


wayward souls: pacts

by jaded_envy, Sleepmarshes, Thefishywitch



Series: wayward souls [1]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood and Gore, Language, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologically Distressing Situations, Supernatural Series AU, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaded_envy/pseuds/jaded_envy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepmarshes/pseuds/Sleepmarshes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefishywitch/pseuds/Thefishywitch
Summary: ACT ONE: Spirited away by the supernatural, Wes Evans has been missing for five years. Soul, teamed up with huntress Maka Albarn, has been trying to track him down, but a routine job turns devastating when his partner dies. Soul makes a desperate deal to bring her back, but the price is high and the stakes are even higher with both new and old enemies on the rise... [Supernatural Series AU]





	1. the crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my piece for Resbang 2017 - wayward souls! 
> 
> This was my first resbang, and I had an absolute blast. I had the great fortune to be paired up with two wonderful people and amazing artists, [thefishywitch](https://thefishywitchy.tumblr.com/) and [marshofsleep](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/), both of whom helped me out immensely with suggestions, and overall enthusiasm! Please check out their art ([thefishywitch](https://thefishywitchy.tumblr.com/post/169749285486/thefishywitchy-wayward-souls-a-supernatural-au), [marshofsleep](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/post/169740931439/wayward-souls-parts-1-2-links-forthcoming-by)), and I highly recommend listening to [ marshofsleep's playlist ](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/post/169740947059/the-noise-in-the-night-is-gonna-get-a-little)\- she captured the essence of this fic perfectly.
> 
> I also was blessed with beautiful betas who truly helped me whip this monstrosity into shape, even though they were all busy with their own fics - thank you [redphlox](http://redphlox.tumblr.com/), [sillytwinstars](http://silly-twin-stars.tumblr.com/), [khaleesimaka](http://khaleesimaka.tumblr.com/) and marshofsleep!
> 
> This will be posted in three parts, two of which (Pacts, Allies) will be posted today and the last of which I will continue working on. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

He picks a place where the dirt seems loose and gravelly. In backwoods country like this, it takes longer to find two intersecting roads than it does to find one devoid of other cars and civilization. The jeep's headlights sweep the road, kicking up long, jagged shadows from the uneven ground, and his keychain clacks angrily against the wheel. Even over the sound of tires on rocks, Soul can still hear the slow dripping of blood onto the car's floorboards.

He almost misses the crossroads with how fast he's going and how narrow the other road is. The car skids as he yanks on the steering wheel, sending up a wave of stones. He shoves the car into park and scrambles out the door, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg, leaving the lights on and the engine running.

The world stretches around him, flat and featureless, broken only by the occasional dark shadow of a tree. He kneels stiffly in the middle of the dusty road, digging his hands in the red earth.

Maka's old journal, held together by blood and sweat, was very specific on the requirements for summoning a crossroads demon: Graveyard dirt. Bone from a black cat. Picture of himself. Put in a box and bury it in the center of the crossroad.

The wind moans across the fields, and the sliver of moon in the sky only serves to make the landscape bleaker. He's about to give up, unearth the box and try another crossroad, when he turns around and there it is.

The journal had described crossroads demons as being enticing, taking the form of beautiful men and women in order to better lure in their victims. This demon must realize that Soul doesn't need to be enticed into a deal because it's as ugly as ugly can be. Short and squat, with bulging eyes and bowed legs, it gives him a smile full of broken teeth.

"Soul Evans. A pleasure." It sketches a bow. "To what do I owe this visit? Surely Maka taught you better than to go wandering the backroads at night. You never know what you might find in the dark." Its smile widens.

"Cut the crap," Soul says, trying to keep his voice firm and commanding. "You know what I want."

"Tsk tsk, Soul," it mocks. "You'll not get anything with that attitude." Its smile abruptly drops. Fire-red eyes study him, calculating, and Soul feels like a rabbit in a snare, looking at a fox's slavering jaws. "Why have you summoned me?"

"Maka's d-" Soul swallows. "Dead. She's dead, and you need to bring her back."

"Do I?" The demon smirks. "Are you sure you want the girl? What about your dear, long lost brother? He's been waiting a long time for you, you know."

"Wes?" Soul asks, and hates how his voice cracks on his brother's name. "He's…he's still alive?"

"Indeed he is. Wouldn't you rather have him back with you? That is why you began hunting after all, isn't it?"

Wes, mussing his hair and teasing him with cutesy nicknames, laughing as his hand is swatted away. Wes, coaxing music out of his violin, body still and peaceful, his bow an extension of his arm. Wes, face stricken, mouth open to scream his name as the monster drags him down in the dark.

Maka, rough hands gripping his shoulder, pulling him away from the darkness.

"Give me back Maka."

"Maka Albarn." The demon rolls her name around in its mouth, spits it out again. "Why should we give her up to you?"

"I…what do you mean? I'm here, I'm offering my soul, so make the deal?"

The demon laughs. "What a stupid child you are. However did you make it this far? Your partner must have had a lot of work cut out for her, babysitting you."

"Give her ba-"

"No," the demon cuts him off. "No deal. Go home."

"What? Why?!"

"Because I don't want to," it says harshly, turning away. "Take her body and do whatever it is you do with your dead."

"Five years."

The demon goes quiet.

"I'll give you five years instead of ten, if you bring her back," Soul says desperately.

It chews on its lip. Finally, it says, "One."

"One year?!"

"One year or no deal."

"You're supposed to give me five!" he shouts.

"And Maka's supposed to be dead," the demon shoots back. "But of course, if you'd rather keep it that way…"

"Fine!" Soul throws his hands up in the air. "Fine. You bring Maka back to life and I…you get my soul in one year."

The demon's face splits into a grin, and it claps its overly large hands. "Perfect! I'm so glad we could come to an agreement." It takes a step closer to Soul, and Soul tries not to shy away. "Now to seal the deal."

"Could you not have picked a more attractive vessel for this?" Soul grumbles, clenching his fists to keep them from trembling. The demon's a good two and a half feet shorter than he is, and Soul is practically forced down to his knees to get on eye level with it, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg as he does so. _This just figures,_ he thinks to himself, eyeing the demon's blunt and broken teeth - his first kiss and it's with a demon, and an ugly one at that.

This close, the demon's misshapen face is even more grotesque than at first glance. Its eyes are small and narrow, and it sports a massive bulbous nose and flattened head. The smell of rot lingers in the air, and it's all Soul can do not to gag as it steps closer. It leers at him as Soul closes his eyes and presses his lips together tight, hoping that a mere peck will seal the deal.

But the demon does not kiss him. It places its mouth over his and inhales, sucking in Soul's breath until his lungs feel shriveled and empty - and then it breathes. Something like smoke burns its way down Soul's throat, tasting of brimstone and blood and acid, and he chokes. He falls to his knees, coughing and retching, as the demon steps away.

"A pleasure doing business with you," the demon says. Through watery eyes, he sees it grin from ear to ear. When he blinks away his tears, it's gone.

* * *

Maka wakes up with one _hell_ of a headache.

It takes a few minutes of staring at the cracks above her to recognize that it is, in fact, a ceiling she's staring at - that she's currently lying in a bed. It's dark in the room, and her face feels cold, like the air conditioner's been blasting away all night long.

Vague impressions of yesterday (today? whenever the last time that she was conscious) come to her - the eerie glow of eyes set in leathery skin, a hand gripping her neck, edge of her vision going red, sudden twisting pain in her stomach and...blood, so much blood. She pieces together enough to recognize that she should really just be thankful that she woke up at all.

Something heavy is resting next to her, touching her side. Her fingers crawl across the scratchy bedspread and come in contact with something soft and slightly greasy.

"Soul," she calls softly. She touches his temple, letting her hand drop as he stirs.

"Mmmmgh." Bleary eyes drag themselves away from the crook of his arms. His face is creased with the impression of the wrinkles in his sleeves, and his hair is a tangled nest above his furrowed brows. He looks like shit. She wonders how long he's been waiting for her to wake up.

"Maka," he grunts, blinking sleepily. Suddenly, his eyes widen. _"Maka!"_

She gives him a tired smile. "Hey."

His hands dance on the covers, and he looks like he's about to either throw his arms around her or pass out, or both. She hopes for the former. But he calms, and instead fists his hands in the comforter. "Maka," he breathes, staring at her intently.

"Hey," she says again, and reaches out to cover his hand. It clenches the blankets tighter at her touch. "When was the last time you took a shower?"

Something in him relaxes at that, and his hands flatten and flip upwards to meet hers, palm to palm. "You've been awake for two minutes and you're already nagging me," he says, feigning grumpiness.

"Someone has to take care of you," she says. A flash of their last mission wedges its way behind her eyes, and she winces. "What happened to the rawhead?"

"Dead."

"And the victim?"

"Safe. Fine. She got away."

Another memory flicks through her mind, and - "Your leg!" She bolts up, reaching out to touch him. He recoils, leaving her hand hanging awkwardly in front of her.

"Don't get up, stupid!" he hisses, and gingerly pushes her down by her shoulders. “It’s fine. It was just a gash.”

"Sorry." He doesn't seem reassured, and his fingers carefully card through her hair, feeling her skull. They move down her neck, tracing her shoulders, her sides, her hips. There's no pain when he does so, but her lack of reaction doesn't smooth the crease between his brows.

She gives him a small smile. "That was a close one, huh."

There's a brief moment of silence before he barks a laugh, running a hand through his own hair. "You could say that." He exhales shakily.

"Let's not do that again, okay?"

Soul takes both of her hands in his and squeezes tight, eyes solemn. "Agreed," he says fervently.

* * *

There's something Soul is hiding.

They're always a little protective of each other after a particularly dangerous mission. They watch each other carefully, brushing shoulders and hands at the slightest excuse, keeping their voices quiet and low. Too aware of how fragile they are, of how easily the thread of their lives can snap.

But then it'll be Maka's turn to choose the radio station and Soul will complain about her music and sing along in the most whiny voice he can manage. She'll proceed to crank the volume and sing even louder, intentionally off-key, until he threatens to pull the car over and kick her out.

Or Soul will leave his dirty underwear for her to trip over on the way to the bathroom and they'll argue for an hour about the cleanliness of the motel room. Soul will ask what the point is of keeping things clean when they're just going to stuff it all into a suitcase in two days, and Maka will tell him that if she can't put her feet on the dashboard because it would dirty his "baby" then he could at least not dirty the other place they live in. He'll make a face, she'll make one back at him, he'll lunge at her and she'll defend herself by pinning him down and tickling him until he gasps for mercy, and things will be back to normal.

But it's been three weeks, and she still catches Soul watching her closely with a troubled frown, like something is going to happen to her at any minute. Asking him what's wrong only earns her a muttered dismissal and a sidelong glance when he thinks she isn't looking. Demanding to know what's wrong during a yelling match about whether she could do something as simple as walk to the convenience store alone made him storm off to the jeep as she hurled books at him. He stewed in his anger for a half hour before he came back and followed her anyway.

And now this job, their first actual monster case since the rawhead, and Soul's suddenly dragging his feet and arguing with every little thing she's doing.

"I really don't think it's a rugaru," Soul grumbles. "It's probably just another wild animal. We're wasting our time here."

Maka rolls her eyes as she sharpens her knife. "Three bodies have been found in the past month completely stripped of flesh, with their bones cracked open and the marrow sucked out."

"Again, could be a wild animal."

"In New Orleans?" Maka asks. Soul doesn't say anything, so she continues on. "Not to mention that shortly before the bodies started appearing, a man by the name of Morrison up and disappeared from his house, leaving his wife in tears."

"Lots of people get into arguments and leave. Doesn't mean anything."

"She was in tears because she claimed that he jumped out of the window and ran into the woods after she caught him hovering over their newborn infant drooling," Maka says. "And there is a suspicious lack of paternal male relatives, since they all seem to mysteriously die in fires or disappear into the woods."

Soul says nothing to that, but slams the trunk with a little more force than necessary before stomping to the driver's side and getting in the car.

"What is _with_ you lately?" Maka asks, sliding into the passenger seat next to him. "It's just another job, we've hunted rugaru before." She peers closer at him. "Don't tell me you're scared?"

Soul snorts. "Not scared," he grumbles. "Just…"

She waits for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn't say anything more, only drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Well whatever," Maka says, crossing her arms and turning away from him. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. Just leave it behind when we fight the thing."

Soul mutters something to that, but starts the car.

* * *

They choose an abandoned warehouse near the edge of a wooded park. With no signs of squatters or runaways in the building, it doesn't take much time to haul their gear in.

Maka barely winces as she draws the knife against her forearm. She waves her arm, splattering tiny droplets of blood on the doorframe, hoping the scent carries.

When she turns back, Soul's as pale as a ghost, eyes fixed on her wound.

"What?" she asks. A bead of blood rolls down her arm; his eyes follow it, and he flinches at the small _plip_ it makes as it hits the concrete.

"Soul," she says, and he snaps his head up to look at her.

"I'm fine," he says quickly, clearly lying, and she sighs.

"Listen," she says, digging around in her bag. "It's only been a month and as far as we know it's only fed three times, so it's probably still going to look humanoid. Don't waste your bullets, remember that -"

" - it can only be hurt by fire, _yeah_ , I know Maka." Soul checks the level of lighter fluid in his makeshift flamethrower. "Like you said, not our first time."

Before she can respond, Soul holds up a hand, head turning towards the door. His eyes meet hers, and he gives a small nod.

Maka crouches down, listening. At first, she hears nothing unusual, only the wind, crickets, the distant sound of cars - but her heart jumps at a small _snap!_

The door slowly creaks open as a monster cautiously edges its way into the warehouse. It sniffs the air, distended veins and saggy skin framing its still-human face.

She knows it sees her when it suddenly stops and pitch-black eyes zero in on her.

The rugaru draws closer, dripping saliva, eyes rolling in madness. _Come on, you bastard_ , Maka silently urges, thumb on the lighter and the can of body spray. _Just a little bit closer…_

It pauses, then advances another step, and Maka's just about to light-and-spray when -

_"Maka!"_

Three things happen in quick succession: Soul lunges at her, Maka's makeshift flamethrower is knocked from her hands as she's shoved aside, and the rugaru pounces, snarling, teeth bared. Its fangs sink into Soul's shoulder, and he yells in pain as they go down together.

" _Soul!_ " Maka screams, fumbling for her weapon. She finds Soul's instead, snatching the super soaker. Her fingers shake as she tries to light it, but finally there's a spark and a yellow glow, and Maka points the water gun at the ceiling as she pulls the trigger.

In the flickering light of the flames, she sees Soul, hand wrapped around the rugaru's neck, muscles in his arms straining as he struggles to keep its snapping jaws away from him. "Soul!" Maka yells again as she readies the flamethrower.

Soul looks up, and in his brief moment of distraction, the rugaru surges forward. Soul manages to catch its jaws with his arm, and howls as the monster bites down.

The tip of the flamethrower wavers as Maka hesitates, not wanting to risk burning Soul. There's a horrible sound of ripping flesh, and Soul screams as the rugaru digs in further. _Fuck it,_ Maka thinks, and begins to lower the flamethrower, when the rugaru suddenly stills. It unhinges its jaw and releases Soul's arm, licking its lips and backing away. Soul immediately curls up around his injured limb, but Maka doesn't have time to tend to him - the monster is already slipping out the door.

"Stay there!" Maka yells as she bolts out of the warehouse. The rugaru hasn't gotten far, and she pounds after it as it darts down the streets. It must be hurt too, somehow, because it's making strange cries that echo off the sides of the buildings and down the alleys.

It's fast, and Maka's almost afraid she's going to lose it as she vaults over chain linked fences and dodges overflowing trash cans. But when she rounds the corner, it's just standing there, crouching in the middle of the alley. It cocks its head at her, eyes glowing white as she flicks the flamethrower on. Its screams ring eerily like laughter as they reverberate off the walls of the alleyway.

The scent of sizzling flesh follows her as she runs back to where she left Soul. He's leaning against the doorframe, holding his shoulder and arm, blood dripping down his sleeves. In the dim light, it gleams almost black.

"Did you get it?" Soul asks.

"Yeah," she answers tersely. "Are you okay?" He nods, and yelps only a little when she takes his arm.  testing it to see if it's broken. It's not, thankfully, but the puncture wounds need medical attention.

Maka leads him over to the car, digging around for the first aid kit as he slumps into the passenger seat. She helps him peel off his jacket and shirt, stained red with blood, and begins to swab disinfectant on his skin.

"What was that?" Soul wonders aloud. "It…it let go of me. Ran away. That's never - rugaru are supposed to be insatiable, right? Once they start feeding, they can't stop?"

"Mmm." She yanks the gauze around his arm a little more forcefully than necessary. "There," she says curtly, throwing him the rest of the bandages.

Soul's smart enough to stay quiet as she stomps back around to the driver's side, yanking open the door and slamming it with more force than necessary. She twists the keys in the ignition and only barely restrains herself from stomping down on the gas as she pulls out onto the road.

"Least we got him," she hears him mutter.

* * *

 Maka slams the door shut behind her, then leans against it, arms folded. "Okay. Talk."

Soul pauses, cradling his bandaged arm. "Talk?" His voice is about three pitches too high to pass as casual. He clears his throat. "Talk about what?"

Maka sends him a withering glare. "Talk about the fact that you almost died back there! Talk about the fact that you're so paranoid and overprotective that you're putting yourself in danger and that's screwing us both up!"

"I'm just doing my job!" he insists. "Looking out for you because you're my partner, like I'm supposed to!"

"Oh no no no," Maka says, shaking her head vehemently. "Don't give me that crap. I can take care of myself! Who taught you everything you know about hunting in the first place? This isn't about me!" She jabs a finger into his chest. "This is about you being an asshole who refuses to talk to me for the past month and acting like a stiff breeze is going to make me kneel over!"

"Maybe _you_ need to be more careful!" Soul growls, shoving her finger away and fighting away a wince of pain. "Maybe _you_ need to stop being so fucking reckless, because shit happens Maka! You throw yourself in harm's way to stop some stupid-ass girl from getting killed, and then you end up slammed against the wall with a hand through your gut, and you don't get up, and who has to deal with you being dead, huh?! Me! I have to be the one to haul your corpse to the car and -"

He cuts himself off, nails digging into his palms. Maka's staring at him, green eyes wide. "Soul," she says slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Soul jerks his head away.

"No," Maka says angrily. "No, I'm done with your lies. _Tell me_."

Soul blows out a sigh. He lets himself sag backwards onto the bed, rubbing at his arm and staring at the floor. "Remember about a month ago, when you - when you woke up?"

She frowns, brows creased in concentration. "You mean after that close call?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Well." He closes his eyes. "It was a bit more than a close call."

"I mean, I guess I was out for a while -"

"You died, Maka," he says numbly.

"I -" She stops. Peers at him closely, judging his honesty, as if he'd lie about something like this. "I died?" she repeats.

He nods.

"But I…" Maka looks down at her body, as if expecting it to suddenly decay. "But I'm not…"

"You left your journal in the car." He ticks off the items on his uninjured hand. "A box. Graveyard dust. Bone of a black cat. Picture of the deal maker." He lets his hand drop. "One soul."

Maka's still standing, frozen as she pieces together his words. "That's…those are the components to summon…” Her eyes land on him, and he can see her putting the facts together, taking in his hunched shoulders and closed off expression, and then…

"You _made a fucking DEAL_?!" Maka explodes. "How could you be so _stupid,_ Soul!"

"You were _DEAD,_ Maka!" he roars back. "What else was I supposed to do!?"

"Oh, I don't know, Soul, maybe _not_ make a deal with a _literal devil_ to bring me back to life!" Maka throws her hands up in the air. "How long do you have?

"A year," he mutters.

"A _YEAR_?!" The expression on her face makes Soul very grateful for the lack of literature around her right now. "How long were you planning on keeping it a secret?!" she demands. "It's been a month already - that's like, one twelfth of your apparent lifespan now!"

"Yeah, thanks, that had completely slipped my mind," Soul replies sarcastically. He watches as she crosses the room to grab her coat. "What are you doing?"

"Get the keys," she commands, pulling on her leather jacket. "We're going demon hunting."

* * *

 "This is a _really bad idea_ ," Soul says for the fifteenth time.

"As bad as getting ourselves into this mess in the first place?" Maka shoots back, and Soul falls silent. "Just pull over at the nearest abandoned crossroads you find," she orders, balancing a flashlight between her teeth as she squints at the pages in her journal.

She's out of the car before he's turned it off, rustling around in a plastic Walmart shopping bag and pulling out a can of paint and a bag of salt. "You draw this -" she indicates a page in the journal, "on the ground here. Cover it up with dust. And memorize this too." She shoves a piece of paper at him.

He squints at the writing, rubbing at his throbbing arm. "What the hell is this? Is it even in English?"

"Nope. Latin." She busies herself with placing bones and dust in a lockbox. "Exorcism ritual."

"I don't even know how to pronounce this stuff, much less memorize it in two minutes."

"Didn't they teach you Latin in that fancy private school of yours?" Maka tosses one of her fake IDs in the box and snaps it shut. "Or make you read the bible?"

"They didn't exactly go over how to exorcise a demon in mass, Maka."

She shrugs as she scuffs out a hole in the center of the crossroads. "Too bad. Would have been a lot more useful than learning about angels." She uses her foot to pat down the dirt, then cups her hands to her mouth. "Demon!" she yells. "Get out here, you bastard!"

"Now now, Maka. That's not very professional of you, is it?"

The demon tilts its head, grinning. Its eyes, red as embers, reflect the lamplight as it waltzes towards them, snapping its fingers to a tune only it can hear.

"And Soul, so good to see you again. I must confess, I didn't expect you this soon. Did you want to start your initiation into hell early?"

"Shut the fuck up," Maka growls. She pulls out a vial of holy water. "Break his deal."

"So rude," the demon sniffs. "Are you sure you made the right choice, bringing her back? From what I hear, Wes is a much more sensitive fellow. I do so hope that Arachne doesn't go too hard on him during their play sessions."

Soul takes a step forward, croaking out, "Wes -" but Maka thrusts her hand out, stopping him.

"Don't," she says lowly, eyes still trained on the demon. "Either you break his deal," she says louder, addressing it, "or you're taking a one-way trip back to where you came from."

"It would be unprofessional of me to go back on our deal, you know," the demon says. "Especially after all the trouble I went through to dig your soul back up again."

"Spare me the sob story."

"Oh, but you know all about sob stories, don't you, Maka Albarn? What would you say if I told you I could bring your mother back, _little shadow_?" Maka clenches her jaw, and the demon, sensing her weakness, steps closer. "Died all alone, didn't she? Just another tragedy you could have prevented. But you can fix this one, Maka. I can help you fix -"

It stops suddenly, then looks down. It scuffs away the dirt to reveal spray paint on the ground below.

Maka smirks. "What was that, demon? I was too busy watching you walk right into our trap to pay attention"

The demon looks unsurprised. "Oh my, a devil's trap. Seems as though you've been doing your homework."

"You'll find that's not the only thing we've brushed up on." Maka crosses her arms. "Now to business. Break Soul’s deal, or you start getting familiar with the bible."

The demon sighs. "As enticing as your offer is, I must decline."

"Soul?" Maka says, and Soul fumbles for his cheat sheet. He begins to recite, Latin words slipping from his mouth.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"_

"We’re not fucking around here, demon,” Maka says. _“Break it.”_

"No can do." The demon smiles through gritted teeth. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"Why?" Maka asks, motioning Soul to continue reciting.

_"…cessa decipere humanas creaturas, esque aeternae perditionis venenum propinare…"_

The smell of brimstone and sizzling flesh begins to permeate the area, but the demon's voice is calm when it replies, "It seems the Queen of the Crossroads has a thing for you, Soul Evans.”

Its eyes slide over to him, and Soul shudders at the look of pure glee in them, nearly stumbling over the next word. Smoke trickles out of the side of its mouth, and its limbs jerk erratically, making it fall to the ground.

_"…ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine…"_

"Who?" Maka demands over the ritual. "Who is the Queen of the Crossroads?"

It starts to giggle, voice alternating between a high, glass-cracking pitch and rumbling bass. Dust kicks up around it as it convulses on the ground.

_"…draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!"_

"Tell me!" Maka cries, but it's too late. The demon pours out of its vessel's mouth, coalescing into a dense black smoke before being sucked down into the ground, back to hell. Its meatsuit lies crumpled on the ground, limbs rigid in death, mouth still stretched into a rictus grin.

* * *

 "What a fucking disaster," Maka mutters as they enter the motel room. She flings her jacket off and begins to tear off her shoes, ripping at the laces, but she can still hear the demon's cackling, the way it taunted her - _little shadow, died all alone, another tragedy that you could have prevented…_

The door shuts, and she turns away as Soul's shadow falls across her, trying to swallow down the bitter mass of grief. His clothes rustle as he crouches beside her, and the fingers of his good hand gently pluck the strings away from her, patiently untying her shoes as she fights to regain control.

A sigh. " 'M sorry," he says quietly as he tugs at the laces. "I know…I knew you wouldn't want to be brought back this way. For that price." His hand is warm against the back of her ankle as he eases her foot out of her boot. "I just…I couldn't." She hears him swallow thickly. "I couldn't let that happen."

 _It's not your fault_ , she wants to say through the regret that clogs her throat. _You weren't the one that died, that left you scared and alone like Mama left me_ , and she takes a shuddering breath, but he's already moving on. "I didn't want to worry you," he says, picking at the other shoe. "I didn't - I trust you, Maka, you know that, you're my partner, and I only…"

She looks at him, pale blonde hair forming a halo around his face as he shakes his head. "I should have told you," he says. "I should have said."

"Yeah," she says gruffly. "You should have."

The other shoe is almost off before he says, "Sorry. That your second life is so shitty," and she sighs, too tired to think, to blame, to muster up anything more than the hollow guilt that she carries like child, feeding and feeding it with her failures.

He frees her foot, and she draws her knees up to her chest, watching her toes wiggle, feeling her heart thump against her chest, hearing the way the floor creaks as he gets up to put her boots away. "Thanks," she whispers to his back. "For bringing me back -"

"Wes is still out there," he says, and she looks up to see him leaning against the window, staring out at the dark parking lot.

"I know," she says, louder, and this time she can tell he hears her by the way he begins to shake his head as she tries, "We'll get him ba-"

"No, Maka." Brown eyes stare into hers with a certainty that she hasn't seen in years. "The demon. It said - it asked whether I would bring you or him back, the first time. And now, now it said he was being tortured - an arachne?" He runs a hand through his hair. "What _is_ that?"

"Nothing I've ever heard of," Maka says, getting to her feet. His body is a stiff line of worry against the glass, and her tentative hand on his shoulder does little to relieve his tension. "We'll get him back," she repeats. "We'll get him back, and we'll save your soul."

She leans against him a moment more, then tugs at his shirt. "Come on," she says, already moving to pack away their belongings. "I don't know how to break the demon's deal, and I don't know what an arachne is, but I know someone who does."

A slow shuffle behind her, and Soul begins to pick up his things and shove them into his suitcase. The demon's voice rings around again in her mind, but this time she takes heart in its words -

_You can fix this one._


	2. the experts

"MAKAAAAAAA!" Spirit blubbers as he opens his arms. "My little girl has come home to her papa!"

Maka brushes past him, completely ignoring his look of hurt. "Stein?" she calls, stomping down the hallway. "Stein, where are you?"

"So cruel," Spirit whimpers from where he's crumpled in the doorway. Soul carefully steps around him, nursing his still-aching arm. " _You!_ " he hears him shout and rolls his eyes as the man scrambles upright.

"Stein!" Maka yells again. "Where is he?" she asks, finally acknowledging her father's presence.

"Basement, my darling daughter."

Maka barrels down the stairs, Soul reluctantly in tow. As always, the basement looks like someone set a bomb off in a library - dusty ancient books form precarious towers that Maka expertly weaves around, papers littered with strange languages and symbols flutter in her wake.

"Stein!" Maka bellows as she rounds the corner of the book maze. "We need -"

Stein holds up one long finger. "Yes," he says into the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. "Agents Eitri and Gokaho were sent out to investigate the murders that had occurred in your town."

Maka huffs, but wanders over to one of the tables half-buried in books and begins to leaf through them. Soul opts to lean next to the rows of phones, careful of his wound. He reads their labels - "FBI", "CDC", "Animal Control" – and making sure to not disturb the melted silver and empty shotgun shells on the table next to him.

"…I'm sorry, that's classified," Stein drawls, twirling around in his chair. "…That's also classified. That's…yes." He picks at one fingernail idly with a pocketknife. "Perhaps if you had a clearance level high enough -"

Soul's close enough to hear a torrent of angry squawking that pours out of the speaker. Stein winces and holds the phone away from his ear.

"…Yes. Glad to have your cooperation."

Stein hangs up and rubs his temples. "This is why Spirit handles the calls," he mutters to no one in particular. He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses as he focuses on them. "Maka. Soul. What brings you here?" A tilt of his head. “What happened to your arm?”

“A ru-“ Soul begins, before Maka barrels over him.

“We need answers, Stein. And fast. Soul -"

"Makaaaaaa?" Spirit's voice winds around the stacks. "Did you find Stein? Are you hungry? I made sandwiches!"

Soul's stomach chooses that moment to remind everyone, very loudly, that the last thing he ate was a shitty gas station hot dog five hours ago. He looks at Maka, who rolls her eyes. "Go eat," she tells him. "We're gonna be down here a while anyway, and I don't want to hear your whining."

"What about you?" Soul asks her.

"Actually, I'm famished myself," Stein says. He stands up and stretches, cracking his back. "Ever since your call, Spirit has been doing nothing but cleaning and cooking and fussing. I've had to answer the phones and research how to kill a lamia at the same time."

"But this is really important…" Maka says, pouting.

"Come on, Maka," Soul says, taking one of her shoulders and steering her towards the stairs. "Few minutes for eating isn't gonna make a difference."

"We've got a time limit, you know," she grumbles, but allows herself to be led into the hallway.

Soul's mouth is already watering at the smell of melted cheese and crispy bread. Spirit lounges in the doorway, a hopeful look in his eyes. Maka doesn't spare him a glance as she takes a seat next to Stein.

Soul attempts to edge past Spirit, but a hand shoots out and blocks his way. "Nuh uh, not you, not yet," Spirit says, folding his arms.

"Papa," Maka warns.

"Just making sure your partner is being good to you," Spirit simpers. His expression hardens as he glares at Soul. "You haven't tried any funny business with my daughter, have you? Don't think just because you're partners that it means you can take advantage of -"

" _Shove off,_ old man," Soul growls, attempting to push past him.

Spirit grabs his good arm, ignoring Soul’s snarl. "Are you taking care of my little girl?" he demands.

"He traded his soul for my life," Maka replies calmly, digging into her grilled cheese. "So yes."

The blood drains from his face, and Soul ends up having to stabilize Spirit as he swoons. Behind him, Stein lowers his sandwich.

"Perhaps food can come later," he says. 

* * *

Just listening to Maka explain Soul's predicament is too much for Spirit, and they end up moving to the living room so he can be dumped onto the couch without Soul constantly needing to grab hold and make sure the man doesn't greet the floorboards face first.

Stein's as quiet and unreadable as ever, still as stone in his armchair. Maka doesn't look at any of them as she relates their encounter with the demon, hiding the waver of her voice with well-timed bites of her sandwich. Soul picks at the food balanced on his lap, and next to him, Spirit slumps against the cushions, not even scolding him for eating on the couch.

"I can't believe it," Spirit whispers. "My little girl…my darling daughter…"

Tone softer than normal, Maka says, "I'm fine, Papa. Soul brought me -"

"You _died_ , sweetheart!" His eyes fix on her face, and there's a glossy sheen to his eyes, one that speaks of old loss and sorrow. "I would hardly call that 'fine'! I told you, I told you over and over, hunting is going to get you killed -"

Her mouth curls. "Just like it got Mama killed?" she asks, overly sweet, and Spirit falters. "Don't worry, Papa. Unlike her, I have a partner that I _know_ I can trust."

Spirit flinches like he's been struck, and even Soul winces at the venom in her words. Maka ignores both of them, lacing her fingers in her lap and looking at Stein. "Moving on, any ideas on what we can do?"

"An arachne, you say." Stein polishes his glasses on his shirt, looking thoughtful. "That does sound familiar…I will have to check the literature, but I believe I may know of the monster you're looking for."

Maka nods. "Good, yes, but what about demon deals? How can we break Soul's?"

Stein rubs his chin. "That will be harder to find out. You've already gone after the demon…Have you read _The Munich Manual_? I can't remember if there was a passage about demon deals in it…"

"I already checked, and it only went over deals made with black-eyed demons…" She follows him as he gets up and makes his way back into the kitchen.

Soul lets them talk shop, getting up from the couch and setting his plate down on the coffee table. He drifts over to the mantle instead, which overflows with pictures of a younger Maka. He could never get over the shot of her proudly standing over her first ghoul kill with her mom. Most children would be happy with a rabbit.

"Did you really trade your soul for my daughter?" Spirit asks, and Soul jumps at the sudden intrusion on his thoughts.

"Mm." It's not quite a confirmation, but he seems to understand.

"Thank you," he says softly, sincerely. Soul eyes him, but Spirit is too busy staring at younger Maka's bright, beaming face. He reaches out a finger and runs it down the frame of one of the pictures, the weight of loss aging his features. "I worry about her," he confesses, "so much sometimes, but I know I can't…she wouldn’t…" He trails off, looking dejected.

Truth be told, Soul understands Spirit the most out of all of them - dragged into this business by another, more seasoned hunter. Both of them thrust from a world where one's life stretched out in front of them, rife with expectations of jobs and relationships and living to a ripe old age, to an endless parade of nightmarish monsters and small towns and at the end, if one was lucky, a funeral pyre.

"Soul," Maka calls. "We've got a couple of leads," she says as Soul slouches into the kitchen, Spirit in tow. Her mouth is set into a grim line of determination.

"The easier one is this arachne," Stein begins, adjusting his glasses. "According to my research, it's a type of rare monster, known for trapping victims in webs and poisoning them with venom. It eats them, and reproduces itself by biting and turning humans."

Soul pales. "So Wes -"

"It would be unusual for it to keep a victim around for so long," he says. "Unless they had already been turned."

Soul shakes his head. "The demon made it sound like he was being tortured by it."

Stein makes a noncommittal noise. "I have, actually, been hearing rumors of something that could be an arachne in Arkansas. Given how rare they are, if it does turn out to be one, you may be able to gain more information about your brother there."

"Great!" Soul exclaims. "So let's -"

"There's someone in Arizona who's an expert on demons," Maka interrupts him loudly. "A witch. Supposedly they were able to break a deal with demon."

"Yes, unfortunately my research doesn't show anything of use beyond what you've already tried in terms of breaking a demon's deal," Stein says. "However, I did hear rumors of a powerful witch that once subverted a demonic contract. It was quite some time ago, but I think their last location was in Arizona. Perhaps they would be able to help you." He stretches. "In the meantime, I'll continue to look into things. Queen of the Crossroads you said? Spirit will call around, see if anyone knows who that might be."

"Your bed is made up, Maka," Spirit interjects, still avoiding her eyes. "You two can stay the night here, get a fresh start tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Maka says. "But we're leaving at seven. The sooner we get some answers, the better."

Soul goes to follow her as she leaves, but Spirit stops him. "Not so fast, punk," he says, back to his overprotective self. "You're sleeping on the couch." 

* * *

Papa is already up and waiting for her when she shuffles into the kitchen early the next morning. Her place at the kitchen island is already set, and she sits, picking up a spoon for the cereal in front of her. Papa slides a glass of juice towards her before turning to attend to the bread baking in the oven.

She takes a sip of apple juice, savoring the tang on her tongue. There's the strange quality to the pre-dawn light that slides in through the tiny window, and the air feels both sharp with lucidity and muzzy with sleep. Papa's features waver between stony anger and frantic distress, though he does his best to smooth his face into some semblance of calm and buries his anxiety in piling her with more and more food.

"Papa, there's enough here to feed an army," she says, watching pile of baked goods grow. "Most of this will go stale before we can eat it."

He snorts. "With your partner's appetite, that's not likely." More cereal and milk appear as she begins to reach the bottom of her bowl, and he says, "I'm sorry I didn't make you waffles or pancakes, I used the last of the eggs yesterday and I didn't have time..."

"It's fine, Papa." She eyes one of the baguettes, and he takes it before she can reach, using the bread knife to slice her off a few pieces.

The bread is still warm when he hands it to her. "Thank you," she says, quieter. "For the food."

"I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast this morning," and they both ignore his careful phrasing, his avoidance of what comes after.

Soul's made a nest of the blankets on the couch, burying himself in them so only the wild mess of his hair is visible. He snoozes quietly, and she can't help her fond smile as she tiptoes past him to the hall.

She slips into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and when she comes back to her bedroom, Papa is sitting in the desk chair, staring blankly at bookshelf.

She follows his gaze, noting the presence of some of her fiction books, ones she thought long lost, victims to their endless parade of moves. Crude drawings in crayon perch between some of the novels, neatly labeled with her name and age. She focuses on the center one, squinting at it through the dust. She can make out a blob with two pigtails, holding the hands of a taller blob with red hair and another with black hair, and a silver scribble of a spirit on flames above them.

She shakes her head and bends to pick up her backpack. She has no attachment to this place, no matter how much Papa tries to pretend otherwise - the only time she lived in this house was when it still smelled of fresh paint and the only thing in the room was the mattress and a lamp. Everything else is just Papa's attempts to surround himself with the ghosts of the people he drove away.

He blocks her way to her suitcase of books on the other side of the bed. At first, she thinks it's because he's planning on helping her move it out to the car, but a minute passes and he makes no move to pick it up, and she realizes soon what this is going to be about.

"Maka -"

"Don't," she says roughly.

She can tell by the look on his face what he wants to say, to do - how he's fighting the urge to yell and put his foot down, to tear the bags out of the hands and tell her she is _forbidden_ from leaving -

But she knows, too, that he's just as terrified of losing her in other ways beyond the physical - that he knows, like she does, the futility in trying to stop someone from leaving when their mind is made up, how it only ends up hurting the person who stays behind to wait.

He reaches for her, and she takes a step back, gripping the strap of her backpack. She nearly falls into him as he grabs her and crushes her to his chest, arms a tight band around her.

"Please," he whispers, and all of the resentment she keeps burning in the bottom of her heart is drowned in the sorrow and fear laced in his voice. "Please be careful. Please come back."

"I - I will," she's startled into saying. He doesn't let go, and the sharp corners of the books in her bag dig painfully into her back as he grips her tighter. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, and she closes her eyes, feeling like she's five again, Papa's patient hands combing and parting them into pigtails. "It's just a witch, Papa," she says softly. "And I'm only going to talk to him, I'm not even going to fight him."

"I know," he sighs, resting his chin over her head. "I just...you know how I worry, and you already..." He sniffs. "You've already died once. I don't want that to happen again. And we both know what can happen, with witches."

The crackling of the logs echo in her ears, and she can feel the heat of the pyre on her face, drying her tears before they can fall from her eyes.

"I'll be _fine_ ," she says firmly, removing his arms. "Soul will be _with me_ ," and Papa's face crumples as she turns away.

She grabs the suitcase, stalking back to the hallway, but hesitates before she exits the room.

"I...I'll call," she finds herself saying without looking at him. "After we're done with the witch, I'll - I'll let you know," and she leaves before any more ghosts come to haunt her words. 

* * *

The next morning, they're in the jeep, idling in Spirit's and Stein's driveway. Soul drums his fingers on the steering wheel as Maka wrestles with the maps.

"So," Soul says, injecting false cheer into his voice. "How long to Big Flat, Arkansas?"

The map crinkles in Maka's hands. "I'm not sure, Soul," she says testily, "because we're not going there. _Prescott, Arizona,_ however, is only twelve hours away."

"Maka," he tries, "we have no idea if the witch is even there anymore. We don't even know if he has anything useful to say, or even if he won't just blast us to pieces on sight. And I know how you feel about witches -"

"I don't care if it's a witch. I don't care if it's a vampire, or a - a siren - Soul, I don't even fucking care if it's another demon! It's your _life_ on the line here, I don't see why you can't understand that -"

"You _know_ why," he says lowly. Her mouth tightens, and he says, pleading, "Stein's lead on Wes is pretty solid -"

"Wes has been waiting for five years! You, on the other hand, have less than one!"

"The demon said -"

" _Fuck the demon_!" she spits, and Soul is startled to see the telltale glint of tears on her cheeks.

"Maka-"

" _No_ , Soul," Maka says, cutting him off. "I'm not budging on this. We're going to Arizona and that's final."

Soul's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He swears loudly, slamming his palms into the wheel, then throws open his door and stomps outside.

Five minutes later, he gets back in the car. "Fine," he says tersely, reaching for his seatbelt. "But if this guy has nothing, if he's not there, we're turning right back around and going after the arachne."

"Fine," Maka says.

He puts the car into gear and backs out of the driveway. The drive to Arizona is silent. 

* * *

Soul's hunted enough witches to know that the vast majority are just normal humans with normal lives and nine-to-five jobs spiced up with the occasional spell or ritual.

It's still weird, though, to pull up at what looks like a completely mundane house in the suburbs and realize that behind that white picket fence and bay windows lives someone who can kill with just a well-placed hex bag. He's never really sure what he expects to tip him off - bubbling cauldron next to the Buick? black cats hissing at him from under the gardenias? - but it's definitely not a collection of ceramic garden gnomes. Honestly, he finds it creepier.

Maka knocks forcefully on the door, glaring at the zinnias as she waits for a response. He doesn't bother to ask her what she plans to do when the witch opens the door - they're still not exactly on speaking terms.

The door swings open, and a lovely young woman appears in the doorway. Hair black as ink is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she favors Soul with a small smile, revealing perfectly aligned teeth.

"Hello," she says, in a voice as smooth as her hair. "Can I help you?"

Maka shoves her way in front and crosses her arms. "Listen, we're on borrowed time here, and we just drove fourteen hours nonstop, so I'm going to cut to the chase. Are you the witch that broke a deal with a demon?"

"Maka," Soul hisses.

The woman's face clouds with confusion. "I…I'm sorry?"

Maka snaps her fingers in front of the woman's face. "You. Witch. You know, sold your soul to a demon, got the power to win the lottery and get rid of anyone in your way for that promotion -"

" _MAKA!"_

Maka drops her hand, and, to her credit, does look a little ashamed.

"Sorry," Soul says, sending Maka a glare. She pretends to ignore it, looking away at one of the gnomes. He intensifies the look, pouring into it all of his frustration at the situation, and Maka eventually sighs and scuffs her foot.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"We were hoping you could help us," Soul says carefully.

The woman looks between the two of them. "I see," she says slowly. Then, miracles of miracles, she backs up, stepping aside and gesturing inwards. "Perhaps you should come inside."

"The hell was that?!" Soul hisses, grabbing Maka's arm as they enter the house. "You go off on me about how we have to save my soul and need to get information from this witch, and the first thing you do is insult her? Way to make friends with people we need help from!"

"I said I was sorry," Maka grumbles. "But she's a witch, you know how they are. How many cases have we taken because some witch got upset that Karen got first place at the garden show and decided to off her? Or because their wife had an affair, so the most obvious thing to do was to behead her?"

"This is why we should have gone to Arkansas -"

"Tea?" interrupts a voice from the kitchen.

Maka opens her mouth, and Soul quickly clamps a hand down on it. "Yes, please," he replies.

"What kind? Do you take sugar or milk?"

The force of Maka's glare is enough to make him wish for hellhounds instead of the death she silently promises him, but Soul didn't get this far by being a coward. "Green tea, if you have it. And no to both, thank you."

There's the click of the stove and clattering comes from the kitchen. Soul slowly unfurls his fingers from Maka's mouth, then quickly stows his hands behind his back.

"Great," Maka complains quietly. "Now we have to search ourselves, our tea, _and_ our chairs for hex bags."

"Oh shut up, Maka, and just drink the damn tea," Soul says irritably, and shoves her into the kitchen.

* * *

"I see," the witch, whose name turns out to be Tsubaki, says, pouring them tea. "Hunters. That explains much."

"What do you mean by that?" Maka demands.

"Not many know about witches," Tsubaki replies neutrally. Soul admires her tact.

Maka takes a defiant gulp of her tea, and blinks, surprised. "This is good tea," she says, begrudgingly.

"I'm glad you like it." Tsubaki picks up her own teacup, a gaudy affair of naked pastel cherubs. "Temomi shin cha - it's quite expensive. Poison would dilute the flavor."

Maka's face flushes, and she hides it with an extended sip.

Soul stares down at his own mug – a perfect replica of Chip from Beauty and the Beast - and watches his murky, green-brown reflection. "We've got a…friend," he begins cautiously, "who has landed in some trouble with a demon."

Tsubaki says nothing, but watches him with shrewd eyes.

"They, uh, made a deal. With a crossroads demon. Standard issue deal, though a little…accelerated on the collecting part." He clears his throat. "On the friend's behalf, we summoned the same demon, and asked it to reconsider. It, um, didn't. Or couldn't. Don't know which."

"So how do we break this friend's deal?" Maka asks.

Tsubaki's face falls. "I'm sorry," she says, genuine. "But you can't."

"But…but _you_ broke a deal with a demon!"

"I did." She takes a sip of her tea.

"So break his!" Maka snaps, but Tsubaki's already shaking her head.

"It's not that simple." She gets up from her chair. "Come. I think it will be easier to show you than tell you."

* * *

They descend downstairs, and Soul shivers at the sudden chill in the air. It doesn't look that much different from a normal basement, though perhaps a little more tidy - there's a bike in the corner, collections of old books and car supplies on top of a blue bucket, boxes stacked neatly into towers.

"It sounds like you're familiar with the most common way to become a witch," Tsubaki says. "How was it that you expressed it - 'sell your soul for lottery winnings and revenge'?"

Maka says nothing, pretending to be watching her step down the stairs very carefully.

Tsubaki grasps the handle of an unnoticed trapdoor, lifting it up and revealing a short ladder. She begins to climb down, and Maka frowns, peering down; Soul nudges her, and reluctantly, she descends. "In truth,” comes Tsubaki’s voice from the bottom, “there are three different ways of becoming a witch. Receiving your powers from an outside source - a demon - is the most common way. Many choose to study the art of witchcraft, though this takes much longer. And there are a lucky few who, like me, were blessed with the gift at birth."

She leads the way through a surprisingly clean and well-lit underground passageway. "My brother was not so lucky, sadly," she continues. "He coveted the power that so easily came to me. I offered to teach him, to take him on as an apprentice multiple times. But he was too proud, or perhaps too ashamed and hateful of himself, to accept.

"He showed up one day," she says, almost as if to herself. "I hadn't seen him in years, and he just…he looked so different, so gaunt and thin, but I could tell. It was still him. He attacked me. And when it was all said and done, I was still standing, and he was not. But I…" and here she stops to look at them, old doubt and hurt in her eyes.

"Perhaps it was foolish." Tsubaki turns away. "Perhaps I was merely looking for something that wasn't there - simply deluding myself. But my brother…" She hesitates in front of an old door, staring through the wood with unseeing eyes. "He checked under the bed to make sure monsters weren't hiding underneath it when I was little. He put bandages on my hands when I burnt myself making potions. He let me cry on his shoulder when my first girlfriend broke up with me."

She shakes her head. "It's difficult, I suppose, when someone has everything you've dreamed of having, no matter how close they are to you."

"I know the feeling," Soul mutters, feeling a stab of bitter empathy.

Tsubaki smiles at him. "Then you know how it is with siblings, yes? Despite it all, he was still my big brother. I loved him. I looked up to him." She turns the knob and pushes open the door. "And I couldn't let him go to hell."

Dried herbs swing from the ceiling of a tiny room, and small jars line the shelves, each labeled in looping handwriting. Along one wall, a bookshelf groans under the weight of its tomes. An antique writing desk stands opposite of it, pens neatly lined up beneath a thick well-worn notebook. Strange, unfamiliar symbols are everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceilings, glowing a soft white-blue.

And on a stand in the center, there's a curious-looking bell jar pulsing a dull, dirty gray.

"This is my brother," Tsubaki introduces them. "Masamune." 

* * *

"It's a very complicated spell," Tsubaki says, leafing through her spellbook. Maka peers curiously over her shoulder as Soul studies the glass jar.

 _All this struggle for this,_ he thinks. For something so small and so fragile. He tries not to think of his own soul, pulsing somewhere within his body.

"So basically, he's in limbo right now?"

"Essentially. Our fight left my brother barely clinging to life. There was nothing I could do to heal him - but I was able to devise a way to capture his soul before it was collected.

"It's been ten years," Tsubaki says, sighing. "Little by little, I've been able to purify it, but I'm afraid it will be a very long time before I can release him and be assured that he'll be free from hell's grip."

"And I only have one," Soul murmurs.

"You're also not dead," Tsubaki points out, unsurprised at his admission. "Pulling a soul from a body generally results in death, and I don't believe the spell works on the living."

"What are these symbols?" Maka asks, gesturing to the jar.

"I'm not sure," Tsubaki replies. "I found them in a very old book, half-rotted and with most of the papers missing. From what I could gather, it was a way to ward off those that would seek to take a soul."

"Like…monsters?"

Tsubaki shrugs. "As I said, the book was in poor shape. Perhaps it's a sort of invisibility spell, one meant to shield the soul's presence from monsters - maybe even reapers."

"Wait, reapers?" Soul asks. "Like…Death? The grim reaper?"

"There's more than one, from what I've read," Maka replies. “If they’re real.”

"That's what my research shows too," Tsubaki agrees. "Speaking of research - although I may not know how to break your deal, I do know more than most about demons and their hierarchy. In fact, I believe I'm one of the few to own some very rare demonology texts - _Pseudomonarchia Daemonum_ comes to mind. Would you like to look at them?"

Maka's eyes shine brighter than stars, but she affects a bored attitude. "Yeah, that might be nice," she says gruffly. Soul rolls his eyes.

"Let's relocate to my study then," Tsubaki says, and gently places her fingertips against the glass jar. "Until later, brother," she says quietly. 

* * *

"Crossroads demons are little better than your common black-eyed demon," Tsubaki says, back in the house proper. Her study is as neat and organized as the rest of the house with the exception of the desk, which contains a veritable sea of books and papers. “However, unlike black-eyed demons, they have a boss, so to speak - the King or Queen of the Crossroads."

Maka and Soul share a glance as Tsubaki continues on. "Now in terms of demon hierarchy, this position is actually fairly low; they have none of the special powers and privileges granted to them like the Generals, or the Princes of Hell, or even the white-eyed demons. For most intents and purposes, the King or Queen of Crossroads is just a more powerful common demon. Still, demons in general are almost impossible to kill, so they are a force to be reckoned with."

Tsubaki looks at Soul. "Now, you said your demon refused to break your deal?"

"It said it couldn't," Soul replies, frowning. "And then…it said something about the Queen of the Crossroads."

"Interesting…" Tsubaki arises from her chair, walks over to one of her filing cabinets and begins rifling through the folders. "As you might expect, the King or Queen is technically responsible for all deals made by crossroads demons. It's not common, but not unheard of for them to personally take hold of a contract."

"Do you know who the Queen is?" Maka asks.

"Last I knew, it was Medusa. But that may have changed - demons aren't as united as they may seem when we encounter them in their vessels here. There's constant political infighting, as they vie for higher positions."

"Medusa," Maka muses. "Interesting name."

"She was appointed by the current King of Hell, Asura. Unusual, from what I gather - generally the red eyed demons are left to fight for the position amongst themselves. I'm not surprised she's decided to personally intervene in your contract though. Supposedly she's more…hands-on than her predecessors. Be careful," she says, serious. "Medusa…she held my brother's contract too. She's cunning and clever, and worst of all, ambitious."

"You said demons are almost impossible to kill," Maka says. "Does that mean you know a way?"

Tsubaki shakes her head. "I said almost because I've read texts that suggest there may be certain artifacts out there. And of course, the lore does state that angels are demon counterparts, capable of banishing them permanently."

"But angels don't exist," Maka says, sighing.

"So it seems."

"But," she continues, hopeful, "if we were to kill Medusa, would Soul's deal be broken?"

"It's possible," Tsubaki replies. "But as I said…how?"

And to this, Maka has nothing to say. 

* * *

"I'm sorry," Tsubaki says again as they load up the car. "You drove all the way out here, and I was unable to help you."

"That's not true," Maka says, though Soul can hear the strain in her voice as she forces a smile. "We've got a lot more information now." And indeed, beyond the information on Medusa, they now know a lot more about demons and how to hinder them than before. Copies of simpler devil traps and shorter exorcism spells now take up a dozen pages in Maka's notebook, along with Medusa's sigil. Tucked between the front seats is more holy water, along with freshly baked muffins.

"I will talk with the other witches in my coven," Tsubaki promises, and misses, or chooses to ignore, Maka's grimace. "Perhaps they will know more, or know who you can ask. Should you find anything, don't hesitate to contact me. In the meantime, though…I truly hope you can find what you're looking for."

"Me too," says Maka, and they take their leave.

"So?" Soul asks when Tsubaki's cottage can no longer be seen in the rear-view mirror. "Arkansas?"

Maka crosses her arms, stares out the window. "Arkansas," she says finally. "But if I hear even the hint of demonic activity or anything that could remotely involve them, we're turning around immediately."


	3. the blood

Driving through Arkansas feels much like driving through any other part of the midwest. Trees and fields line the highway, broken by the occasional farmstead. Cattle slouch in pastures, heads hung low with heat that Soul can easily imagine, even in the temperature controlled jeep. In the distance, the sky looks bruised, a mass of thunderous clouds on the horizon.

"The victims have been found near a series of caves called Blanchard Spring Caverns, between Fifty-Six and Allison," Maka says, tracing a finger along the map in her lap. "The three bodies they've found look like they've been eaten away at by acid. They've found an unknown chemical or something in the blood as well. Police have been putting it down as some sort of toxin or poison that kills the victims first, and chalk up the missing chunks of flesh to scavenging by local animals."

"But Stein thinks it's an arachne?"

Maka shrugs. "It's the best bet we have. The book mentioned something about venom, and most spiders kill by paralyzing their prey, then spitting up acid to make the flesh into liquid so they can suck it up."

Soul can feel his face paling, and he swallows, trying very hard not to think about his brother. "Gross. Okay. How big are the caves?"

"Well they've mapped out about eight miles of it, but I doubt the arachne is going to risk a nest in the caverns. Too many people. Buuuuut, I was looking at the surrounding area…" Maka shuffles through her folder and pulls out another map. "See here?" She taps at a place not too far from the caves, marked with a X and a small A next to it. "There's an abandoned mine not too far from it. Perfect for snatching victims and dumping them close to the caves."

 _Perfect for hiding a person - for hiding Wes,_ Soul thinks, but asks instead, "Wouldn't the rangers have checked there first for the missing victims or for some large predator?"

"They did. Interestingly, they found nothing - just thick cobwebs, and decided that any major predator that would do something like this would have disturbed them."

"Guess we know where we're going first then. Any ideas on how to kill it?"

Maka grimaces. "Not yet. Got the whole complement though - silver and iron bullets, salt rounds, flamethrowers, and machetes." She stretches. "Found a motel not too far away - we can set up there and get some sleep and food, head out tonight."

"No," Soul says. "No, we'll go now."

"What? Soul, you've been driving for the past eleven hours."

"I'm fine. No big deal." At Maka's incredulous look, he snaps, "Look, let's just get this over with. The time of day isn't going to matter in a cave, and from the looks of it -" he nods to the darkening clouds on the horizon, "it'll be raining tonight."

"Soul -"

"I'm _fine_ ," he growls. "We already wasted too much time driving all the way out to Arizona. Wes could be - he could…" He clamps his mouth shut, stares ahead at the road. "We're going now," he says finally.

He hears Maka sigh. "Fine. Take a right at the next intersection to stay on 263."

He changes lanes accordingly. "We'll go in, kill it, and get Wes out. It'll be quick," he assures her. "Easy. I bet we'll be done before the storm hits."

* * *

Soul curses as he runs for the cover of the trees, lightning flashing above him. The sodden duffel bag of weapons thwacks against the side of his hip, and he shoves his dripping bangs aside, squinting through the downpour.

Beside him, Maka points at a dark shadow to the right, and he changes course, scrambling for purchase on the wet leaves. The sky begins to purr, and Soul feels one foot give way beneath him as it crescendos to a roar. A strong hand grips his shoulder, steadying him. "Come on!" Maka yells in his ear, tugging him towards the entrance.

The scent of wet leather jacket and damp earth presses close to Soul as they huddle together in the shelter of the mine. Outside, the rain lashes against the ground, and the wailing of the wind sounds strange and distorted as it sweeps through the cave. Soul can feel the warm water dripping uncomfortably down his neck, and Maka's pigtails trail rivulets as she wrings out her clothes. He hands her a machete and a pistol to add to the shotgun she's strapped on her back, grabs another gun and one of their makeshift flamethrowers for himself.

The sound of the rain fades as they move further inwards. It's chilly in comparison to the warm humidity outside, and damp, with drops of water plinking onto their heads and shoulders. It's not nearly as maze-like as Soul expected; there's an occasional branch off, but their flashlights reveal them to be uniformly blocked by debris or boulders. It makes it very easy to navigate even as the path widens out - a _little **too** easy_ , Soul thinks, and by the furrow in Maka's brow, she's thinking the same thing. _Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,_ and he feels intensely aware of every pebble skittering beneath their feet, every creak of the support beams, every rustle in the dark.

He jumps as something brushes against his hand. Warm fingers slip into his, and he relaxes slightly when she squeezes. "Calm down," Maka mouths, shadows from the flashlight dancing over her face.

Soul swallows, but latches his fears to her confidence as she lets go and leads him through the gloom.

They trek for a good ten minutes before the webs begin. At first it's only small wisps strung between crevices, gleaming faintly. They thicken, clotting the narrowing path and covering the rocks in billowing silver sheets. Webs cling to them as they brush by, as though the mine is reaching out, the walls closing in.

Finally, they find themselves in a small cavern. Cobwebs are draped from every corner, but their flashlights find no other way forward. They spread out, flicking their lights back and forth between their surroundings and each other, keeping their hands on their weapons.

A cluster of particularly thick webs attracts Soul's attention. As he gets closer, he realizes it's no random clump - that it almost looks like…

"Maka," he says urgently, wading through the sticky mass. He crouches next to the cocoon, using the butt of his flashlight to probe for a body.

His heart pounds as he maps out a leg, an arm, a head. There's no struggle, no movement from the person trapped within as he carefully pulls out a knife. Fingers trembling, he begins to saw away the webs.

"Oh god," he whispers. His eyes water at the horrible acidic smell that assaults him as more of the body is revealed. The skin feels…mushy, wet, and patches of the face have been eaten away, bones gleaming through ragged holes. Soul quickly averts his eyes, feeling his stomach roil.

A shock of blonde hair spills out, and Soul - Soul can't -

Maka sighs as she leans over his shoulder. "Poor bugger," she murmurs.

"W-W…Wes-" Soul chokes out.

"Wes?" Maka repeats, confused. "I thought he was your brother?" She peels away the rest of the cocoon. "This is a woman," she says. "Probably some poor tourist that got lost or kidnapped in the woods."

"Y…yeah," Soul says, relief rushing through him. "Yeah, that's - that's not Wes."

"I figured." Maka grimaces as she examines the body further. "Looks fresh, maybe," she announces quietly. "Must have been its newest victim."

Soul's already scanning the area for more cocoons. "Don't see any more here," he says. "Maybe down another pathway?"

"They were all blocked off, remember?"

"It was dark, we could have missed -"

Something drips onto his jacket. He brushes it off absently, only to draw back at the sting in his fingertips. More drops pitter onto his shoulder, and Soul tilts his flashlight up. He catches a glimpse of mottled skin, pale, multi-pupiled eyes, and gleaming fangs, a drop of venom glistening at the tip -

A shot rings out and the arachne hisses, disappearing into the dark above. Soul stumbles backwards, flashlight beam darting from stalactite to stalactite, but the webs obscure any hiding monsters. He shoves his knife back into its sheath, and it's instinct and five years of experience that has him drawing his gun and moving to press his back against Maka's. "Plan?" he asks tersely.

"Need to get back to the tunnel," she says. "That way we're not -"

A sudden movement has Soul spinning to shoot, Maka seamlessly adjusting to cover him. The echoing report of his shot makes them both wince, and the rock above them shudders.

Dust rains down as they struggle through the webs. Maka's machete flashes as she hacks and slashes, her breath coming fast. Soul watches the ceiling, still rumbling quietly, and tries to keep his heart and hands steady. They reach the tunnel just as the rocks above them settle with a sigh.

"We need to keep going, we have no idea how unstable this place is -"

"Maka, _there!_ "

This time they can both see the bullets pierce the arachne's shoulder and chest, but it barely slows it down as it moves easily over its webs. "Not silver," Maka says, backing up and reaching for her shotgun.

Soul takes aim, but before he can get a shot off, the arachne pounces. It knocks him to the ground, rocks digging into his back, and claws at him with its wickedly sharp fingers. He manages to get a knee under it, holding it off as he whips out his knife and stabs it in the side. The arachne grunts, but only renews its effort to claw his face off.

"Not - iron - either," Soul gasps. He kicks out, and the arachne is thrust backwards into Maka's range. The salt pellets from her shotgun do nothing, only make it angrier.

She uses her shotgun as a bracer to shove the monster off of Soul, and he scrambles for where he dropped the duffel bag.

"Get down!" he roars, and Maka hits the ground as he flicks the lighter on.

Fire pours out of his makeshift flamethrower and engulfs the arachne. It shrieks, and the walls rumble ominously at the eerily high-pitched sound.

But it doesn't die. Parts of it smolder and smoke as it lashes out blindly at Maka, who barely dodges its claws. Soul sees his opportunity and charges forward, pinning it against the side of the tunnel.

"Where is Wes?" he yells over the thundering of the rocks. He rams it against the wall, ignoring the heat against his sleeve. "Where is my brother?"

Behind him, Maka warns, "Soul…"

The arachne coughs. "Brother, you say," it says hoarsely.

" _Yes!_ Wesley Evans, I know you have him, _where is he?_ " The arachne stares at him blankly.

"Soul -"

"He's - he's tall," Soul says desperately, "blonde hair, light blue eyes, he's got a scar on his chin from falling out of a tree, and the demon - it said you had him, so tell me _where!"_

At that, something flares behind the arachne's unnatural eyes. "Ahh…" it says. "It's _you -"_

"Soul!" Maka grips his elbow, yanking him back to their unstable surroundings. "It's going to come down!"

"But Wes -"

"He isn't here!" More rocks are raining down, and she shoves him forward. " _Move!_ "

He does. Behind him, he hears the _kssssh_ of the flamethrower and the screech of the arachne before Maka pounds after him. Their flashlights bounce erratically off torn spiderwebs, crumbling rocks, and splintering beams. Over the noise, he can still hear the arachne's shrieks coming closer and closer. He risks a glance backwards to see it scrabbling across its webs on the sides of the walls, its mouth open and fangs bared in rage. He trips and almost falls, saved only by Maka hauling him up and pushing him forward. He doesn't look back again, and she doesn't let go.

Finally, there's a bright patch of light and warm wind blows past Soul's face as he dashes towards the entrance. He's twenty feet away when there's a terrible, teeth-clenching sound, and rocks the size of soccer balls rain down from above. Soul lunges, Maka next to him, and the earth shakes as a huge boulder smashes down unnervingly close behind them. The arachne screams in fury and pain as they clear the cave.

They burst out into the pouring rain, panting and gasping. Soul leans over, trying to catch his breath and slow his hammering heart, no longer caring if he's soaked to the bone. He glances over at Maka and catches her eye. They stare at each other for a moment. Soul's hand finds hers briefly, and he squeezes tightly, trying to keep his fingers from trembling. She squeezes back, and he lets go, reassured that they're both alive.

The cave, when they turn back to it, is quiet and motionless. Soul cautiously eases his way into it, holding his sleeve to his mouth to keep out the dust. Through watering eyes, he can make out part of a leg - the arachne's leg, buried under countless tons of boulder.

"…I guess crushing it with a rock works too," Maka says, finally. It doesn't move.

"There really weren't any other ways to go, right?" Soul asks her, almost pleading. "We explored the only end this cave had, right?"

"Right," Maka says, nodding her head firmly. "We looked in the only places that were there. Wes was never here." She sighs, tugging at a wet pigtail. "Guess it's back to the books for us."

They leave the cave and the arachne behind for the sodden weather outdoors. "He wasn't there," Soul whispers to himself. "He wasn't there." 

* * *

The light from the TV paints their motel room in pale blue and white. Soul's knee bounces, fingers finding chords on his thigh over and over as he listens.

"- _and local attractions such as Blanchard Caverns shut down today in response to the severe thunderstorm warning. Many have lost power and weather experts say that we may be looking at another three days of heavy rain. In other news, local politician Raymond White has proposed -"_

"Soul." Maka blocks his view, frowning. "Get some sleep."

"But -"

"You've been watching the news for four hours now - if they were going to report on something they found, they would have done it already."

He glares at the carpet. "Soul," she says, softer, "we checked that cave thoroughly. Wes wasn't there. There's more than one of these things, you know. We'll keep searching."

"Okay," he says in a small voice.

He lets her lead him over to one of the twin beds. The contact of his head against the stiff, scratchy pillows suddenly reminds him of how exhausted he is, physically and emotionally. The weatherwoman drones on in the background, and Soul struggles to hold onto the thread of her voice even as the words themselves dissolve into nonsense. The bed creaks as Maka gets up, and Soul tries to tell her not to turn the TV off, but can't manage more than a mumbled groan as fatigue robs him of his comprehension, and soon, of his consciousness.

* * *

The cave is impossibly long and winding, branches spidering out from the main tunnel. He has to find the jeep. If he can find the jeep, then he'll know which way to go. Maybe it's at the end of this pathway? He hurries down it, something crunching beneath his feet. Webs stick to his shoes, snaking up to wrap around his ankles; he bends to free himself, but strings of horsehair cut his hands when he tries.

He looks back up, and the moon glares back at him. Beside him, Maka's drawing in the dirt of the road. "Where's the jeep?" he asks her. She hums, adding a line that cuts her circle in half. "Where's the jeep?" he asks again.

"I think the water's coming in too fast," she announces. "We'll need to move our stuff to higher ground."

"But I need to find the car," he says.

"If we start off with moving your piano first," she reasons, "then we'll know how much more will fit." She points to the top of the stairs. _TICKETS_ , the sign says, and Soul knows what's waiting at the top.

"We can't go in there," he says. "It's too dark. Everyone will disappear, and we'll never find anything."

Maka tilts her head, sunlight on her ash blonde hair. "Then why are you leaving?"

The high vaulted ceiling of the train station slushes as it runs together and melts. Beads of paint slowly stretch away, almost reaching Soul before being sucked back up.

"It's too late," Maka says, red paint tinting her clothing. "It's flooding."

Soul wakes suddenly. The TV is still on, though muted, and commercials flicker across the screen. He can still hear the sucking from his dream, the crunching and slurping, and he slowly realizes it's because it's coming from somewhere inside the room. He tries to turn his head to find the source and -

He can't move.

Soul tries kicking out his legs, but they're bundled too tightly together. Something sticky brushes against his fingers when he flexes them. He tries looking down at his sheets, only to realize they seem to…shimmer in the dim light.

He rolls his eyes to the side. He can't see much, but there's a shape on the bed next to him, and he whispers, "Maka."

No answer.

He tries again. " _Maka_."

He hears something shift to his right, and Maka's grumpy voice cuts through the sounds of chewing. "Soul?"

The room goes silent. Then something limps across the room, floorboards moaning, _creak thump, creak thump,_ and the light from the TV is blotted out by a shadow - one with pale eyes and gleaming fangs.

"Ahhh," the arachne says. "You're awake."

Soul feels the foot of the bed give way beneath it. Something presses against his knees, then his hip. He tries to thrash about, breath coming too fast and hard, but he can barely do more than twitch as the arachne crawls, spider-like, on top of him. A hand grips his shoulder and it leers. "I've been waiting for you to wake," it says. "It was a good trick, trying to bury me alive. Fortunately, we're tougher than our cousins. Our mother made sure of that."

It inhales, nose brushing his jaw. "For the record," it whispers, breath hot against his skin, "I never had your brother. But worry not." Soul shudders as something warm and wet trails down his neck. "I can make it so you can see him again, very soon…"

He tenses, waiting for the descent of fangs, the prick and the poison.

But the arachne stops, teeth inches away from his jugular. It turns abruptly, catching Maka with the back of its hand. He hears her hit the ground, her weapon skittering on the floorboards, and the arachne disappears from view. "Not so fast, little meat," it croons somewhere below him, and he can hear Maka struggling on the floor.

"Maka!" Soul cries, renewing his efforts to free himself, but to no avail.

There's a grunt, and a thump, and the bed tilts as Maka heaves herself up onto it. She twists, and there's a hiss before she suddenly lunges forward, falling against Soul.

He yelps as pain lances through his forearm, feeling Maka's dagger cut through the stickiness - webs, he realizes belatedly. She fumbles with the blade, bits of cobweb sticking to her hands and fingers, and saws away at the tangle enmeshing his arms.

She's gotten half of his arm freed when there's a flicker at the corner of his vision. "Behind -!" he yells, but it's too late - Maka's head slams into his chest as the arachne grips it from behind. Sharp claws dig in, and Maka shrieks, scrabbling, and blood gushes down from her head as the arachne laughs. Maka's eyes roll to him, begging, and the blood gushes down, and there's something warm on his face, and the blood gushes down and there's blood on his face, Maka's blood on his face, Maka's blood on the concrete as she holds her guts in her hand, Maka's dead _Maka's dead MAKA'S DEAD_

_The itsy bitsy spiiiiider_

The arachne's head snaps back, and Maka collapses against Soul, panting and whimpering as it releases her scalp. He struggles upwards onto his freed elbow, and in its multifaceted eyes, he can see its growing fear, see his own twisted reflection as he bares his teeth and -

_went up the water spout_

\- bits of plaster rain down as the arachne is flung onto the ceiling, and it screeches in surprise. Shadows dance madly on the walls as it flails, trying to free itself, just like Soul tried to free himself from his cocoon, flailing just like Maka did when it tried to crush her head -

_Down came the rain and_

\- his head pounds, pounds with every beat of his heart, and blood pulses in Soul's ears and in the arachne's veins and he can hear it, can hear its shushing, can feel the push and the pull, and can _squeeze_ -

_SMASHED_

tighter and tighter and the edges of his vision blur and the arachne goes still, legs contorted against the ceiling, and its face swells and liquid is leaking from its nose its ears its mouth

_THE SPIDER_

and it's screaming and it's laughing and laughing and it won't shut up it _won't shut up just SHUT UP_

_DOWN_

There's a terrible squelch and something splatters on his face. The pressure in Soul's head releases as the arachne falls bodily onto the floor, and he slumps backwards, breathing fast. There's a vibration in his throat, and something's touching the sides of his face, and he tries to brush it off, brings up his fingers to wipe the blood off, but there's no telltale wetness or stickiness - just cold hands.

" _Soul_ ," Maka says, shaking him, and he blinks at her sluggishly, taking in her wide, frightened eyes and trembling mouth. She's bleeding, still bleeding, darkness dripping from her hairline. He paws at her face clumsily, trying to put pressure on her wounds and make the blood stop, to stop her from dying, from bleeding out, but she hisses and pushes his hands away.

"Maka," he slurs, "you're bleeding, stop - don't -" die don't leave -

Her mouth moves and the sound catches up a few seconds later, "-fine Soul, it hurts like a motherfucker but it's just a head wound, they bleed." She touches his face tenderly, and this time he doesn't fight, closes his eyes and lets her cool hands bring back some semblance of rational thought back to him.

"Oh - oh god," Maka whispers, and he opens his eyes. She's turned away, looking over her shoulder, and Soul follows her gaze to the corpse. The arachne's limbs are crumpled beneath it, twisted, and there's - there's no head, not really, just - just…

He looks away. The vibration is back in his throat, wavering up and down, and he chokes down on a giggle.

"Are you…are you humming?"

Maka's staring at him with a mixture of concern and disbelief. Soul bites down on the inside of his cheek, and says, "N-no." The vibration stops.

After a while, she whispers, "I think it's dead for real now."

Soul tries to give a grunt of acknowledgement, but it gets stuck in his throat and comes out as a strangled sob instead. He buries his head in Maka's waiting arms, squeezes his eyes tight until he sees starbursts instead of its mangled body and its predatory grin and Maka's bloodied face.

"What _was_ that?" Maka asks, and he knows she's not talking about the arachne.

Soul swallows hard. "I…I don't know."


	4. the secret

The first thing Soul becomes aware of is the music.

Scratchy, poorly recorded jazz presses against him, muffled by the darkness. Other things gradually begin to make themselves known to him: dark, velvet red curtains, gleaming grand piano, and candles that seem to enhance the darkness rather than drive it away.

He looks down at himself, rubs the pinstripe suit between his fingers. It dawns on him why this feels familiar, why this suit hangs heavy on him, but he pushes that aside.

"Well well well," comes a voice. Soul blinks, focuses on crooked teeth, calculating eyes, a sinister smile. "Look who's back already," the demon says. It sweeps its arms, encompasses the dark room. "Recognize this place?"

"No," Soul lies.

The demon settles into one of the plush armchairs. "Oh really? Doesn't ring any bells?" It cocks its head at him innocently. "The magnificent piano performance, the lackluster violin accompaniment, the adoring crowd with eyes only for the younger brother - your dearest wish come true, right?"

" _Shut up_ ," Soul snarls. "Why am I here? What is this place?"

The demon waves its hand airily. "Here. There. Nowhere. Think of it as a space…in between."

"In between _what_?"

"You and I. We're connected now, you see." It props its head on one of its hands, tapping its fingers against the armrest. "I must admit, I'm impressed. I was beginning to think you would be a failure like the rest of them, but you've surprised us all with your aptitude."

Soul shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Your little stunt with the arachne. Not only did you successfully kill it, with a display of power that none of us anticipated, but you snapped back to sanity afterwards." At his shocked look, it laughs. "Come now, you didn't think that you had suddenly developed telekinesis all on your own, did you?"

"I - you - but - how? Our deal was for my soul, not for…whatever this is!"

"You should have read the fine print, Soul," it says, shaking its head. "I'm not surprised though. So few people do."

His nails dig into his palms, and he glares at the demon. "What did you _do_ to me?" he hisses.

"I merely gave you a piece of myself." It folds its hands together over its stomach. "The price of our deal was your soul, yes, but you bargained away more than just its final destination."

"So, these…powers -"

"A manifestation of our exchange." It leans closer, eyes gleaming. "You've been blessed with a gift, Soul - a gift you can use to your advantage, especially in your line of work."

Soul takes a step back. "A gift I'm supposed to just believe you gave me out of the goodness of your heart, to solve problems I'm supposed to believe you care about?"

"We have your soul already." It grins. "What more could we possibly want?" At his unconvinced expression, it waves a hand dismissively. "Think about it, Soul. What did you _really_ ask for when you made your deal?"

"For you to revive Maka," he mumbles.

"Those were more or less the exact words," it replies, "but you were really asking for Maka's life, weren't you? To fulfill your spoken contract to her - to be her partner and protect her." It spreads its hands. "How better to do that than with these new abilities of yours? You've already seen how useful they can be."

Soul stares it down, arms tightly crossed. "I don't believe you. At all."

It shrugs. "Believe me or not. We both know that when it comes to Maka, there's very little you won't do to keep her safe."

As if on cue, the music bends to make way for her voice.

_Soul…Soul…_

"I suppose that means our time here is complete." The demon sighs. "Worry not though, Soul. I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon enough."

The room begins to darken further, candles snuffing out and the red of the curtains deepening into black. The only thing that doesn't fade is the demon's grin.

"We'll be watching you closely…"

"-oul. Soul. Soooooul. _Soul -_ "

"Mmmgfh." He becomes aware of something poking his cheek, and swats at it thickly. "Stoppit."

Maka pulls back, returning her hand to the wheel. "Finally. You okay?"

He rubs at his eyes, moving his aching neck. "Yeah," he says. "Just…weird dream."

"Sorry," she says. "I know you didn't get a lot of sleep."

"S'okay," he grunts, pushing away the memories of dripping fangs and blood. "What's up?"

"We're about four hours away from Papa's," she replies. "Stein's pulling all the books he has on rugaru."

"Rugaru?"

"Yeah. You got bitten by it, remember?" She taps her fingers against the wheel. "And there was something…weird about the way it acted. That it ran away."

"What are you thinking? Rugaru rabies or something?"

Maka shrugs. "I'm not really sure; I've never heard of anything like this happening before. But it's a start. Unless you have any better ideas?"

_You should have read the fine print, Soul…_

"Yeah, me neither," Maka says, taking his lack of response as agreement. "We'll start off with this, then."

They lapse into silence, and Soul stares blearily out at the sky, where the first strands of light are weaving their way into the deep blue. Maka keeps stealing glances at him when she thinks he's not looking, and he doesn't like the expression on her face.

"What?" he asks finally.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, then - "Your hair," she says, frowning. She reaches up, fingers touching the fringe. "It's…gotten paler."

"Eyes on the _road_ , Maka," he says, pushing her hand away and pointing out the windshield. He glances at himself in the mirror. It's hard to tell in the dim light, but she's right - it does look like the color has lightened. "Must be all the scary situations we find ourselves in," he jokes weakly.

Maka snorts. "Scaredy-cat," she says affectionately. "Mind taking over the wheel for a bit?"

"Sure," he says, not particularly eager to sink back into sleep anyway. He shakes the memory of the room, the demon and their conversation out of his mind, but the words aren't so easily shrugged off.

 _You've been blessed with a gift_ …

* * *

Maka's snoring in the backseat, newspaper over her head and Soul's jacket draped over her. Soul's getting tired himself - the white lines on the highway are starting to blur, and he reaches for another swig of cold coffee. When he looks back at the road, there's a woman standing in the center of it.

"Shit!" he swears, slamming on the brakes and swerving out of the way. The car misses the woman by inches as it skids to a stop.

A thump as Maka hits the floor. “Wha?” she mumbles, sitting up immediately. “What is it?"

Soul's already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Think I almost just hit someone." Maka groans, but fumbles for the door as Soul gets out of the car.

The woman is still standing, facing the other way. "Jesus, lady, are you okay?" Soul asks, jogging to her. He does a quick once over - pale hair, long, dark colored dress, a height and posture that makes him think of the aristocratic ladies that once flocked to Wes' performances. "You came out of nowhere, I'm sor-ry..." His words slow, and he hear Maka's sharp intake as breath as the woman slowly turns around.

Red eyes glow in the taillights of the jeep. The demon smiles at them, sharp teeth showing.

"Hello, Soul," she says. "I've been looking for you."

" _Demon_ ," Maka hisses, taking a step backwards towards the jeep.

The demon turns its gaze to her. "Maka," she says, with no small amount of disgust.

"Who are you?" Soul demands.

"I must say, I'm impressed," she continues. Braided blonde hair sways hypnotically as she saunters a few steps closer. "You tested far better than I expected. A prodigy, I suppose, just like your brother. Though in a…different sense."

" _Who are you?_ "

"Medusa. Queen of the Crossroads." She tilts her head. "Perhaps you've heard of me?"

There's a brief moment of shock, then Maka is lunging forward before Soul can grab her, knife and teeth bared. Medusa offers no resistance as she plunges her dagger into her heart and twists.

Medusa looks down at the weapon protruding from her chest and clicks her tongue. "Tsk tsk," she says, and easily pulls it out. "You know better than that, Maka." She flicks her wrist, and Maka is flung into the air. She hits the back of the jeep with a hollow thud and slides to the ground.

"Maka!" Soul yells, taking a step towards her.

"Ah ah ah -" Medusa says, and his feet freeze to the road. "Not you. I have business to discuss with you."

"Let me go, bitch," he growls.

"I suggest you treat me with respect, Soul," Medusa replies, voice dangerously low. "Remember who holds your contract." At Soul's silence, she smiles. "Besides, I come here with good intentions. I believe we can help each other."

"Your head on a platter is the only thing we want," Maka says, leaning heavily against the jeep. She takes a few steps towards Soul; Medusa watches, but does not interfere.

"Is that so?" she muses, looking more bored than intimidated when Maka pulls out her sawed-off shotgun. "And here I thought you were looking for Wes."

Soul reaches out and puts his hand on Maka's shotgun, forcing her to lower it. "…What do you know?" he asks cautiously.

"I know who Arachne really is, for one," she says, inspecting her nails. "I may even know where Wes is. As for your new abilities, who better to tell you about them than the person who bestowed them upon you?"

Maka's grip tightens on her gun. " _You_ \- it was you?"

"Well, through a proxy, of course. I'm a very busy woman, as you might imagine."

"We already know what arachne are," Soul says. "We just killed one, and Wes wasn't there." _I hope,_ he thinks, swallowing his fear.

Medusa shakes her head. "Slow as ever, Soul, do try to keep up. You fought _an_ arachne, lowercase; one of her pet monsters, the dearest to her heart. She won't be happy with what you've done, by and by. Wesley is most likely paying for that now."

"Then what -"

"A demon. My sister, as it happens." She rolls her eyes at their shocked expressions. "Arachne is her _name,_ you imbeciles," she says scathingly, "and you best not forget it."

"Then where -"

"Not yet, my prodigy." Her scornful expression melts away in to a far more pleasant visage. Her teeth gleam as she favors Soul with a predatory smile. "Now, about your powers -"

 _"No,"_ Maka interrupts. "We don't want anything to do with you unless it's breaking Soul's contract."

"Maka, _stop_ , let her -"

Medusa yawns, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. "Very well."

"Medusa, w-" But Medusa is gone, and the road is deserted save for the two of them and the jeep. 

* * *

Soul paces a hole into the basement floor while Maka scribbles down Stein's words into her journal. "All demons can possess humans," he's saying. "Perhaps owing to their nature as a tortured human soul, or because of a human's vulnerability to supernatural phenomenon, it's relatively easy for them to -"

"We know that," Soul snaps. "What does this have to do with my brother?"

Stein's voice is calm and clinical. "It's always good to establish the basics before moving onto new concepts."

"Soul, let Stein speak," Maka says, not looking up from her journal. She points a pen at him as she flips through the pages. "And for god's sake, sit down. You're making me dizzy."

Soul growls, but complies, flopping down on a squashed couch and glaring at the ceiling.

"As I was saying, all demons can possess humans. But it takes a much more powerful demon to be able to possess the supernatural. And as far as I can tell, this demon - Arachne - is one of them." Stein shakes his head. "Unfortunately, I didn't find much more than that. Only that she's been placed as a werewolf, vampire, ghoul, shapeshifter, siren…if there's a race, she's used them as a vessel."

Maka lets out a long sigh. "And she might have Soul's brother."

"It seems so. The question is, why?"

"Yeah well, who cares?" Soul says. "She's dead either way."

There's a pause. Maka puts down her pen. Stein says nothing, overhead light glinting off of his glasses.

"What?" Soul asks aggressively.

"Soul…" Maka rubs her eyes. "Soul, how? We don't know how to kill demons. We don’t even know if demons _can_ be killed."

"So? We've killed plenty of things that weren't supposed to be able to be killed -"

"We've got no idea where she is," Maka says, ticking off on her fingers. "We've got no idea if Medusa was telling the truth about her having Wes. Hell, even if we do find her and she does have him, we have no idea how to fight her, much less kill her!"

"So what, we're just going to let her have Wes? Just leave him to _die_?"

"I'm not saying that," Maka says patiently, spreading her hands in a gesture of peace. "I just don't know what we're going to be able to do, or how long it'll take us to figure it out. But it's been a month and a half since you made your deal -"

"We're _not_ giving up on him!" Soul snarls, rising up off the couch.

"I didn't say we were! But if this Arachne is that old and that powerful, I'm not sure what we can do!" Maka gets up from her chair, moving around the table to stand in front of him. She places her hands on his chest in an attempt to soothe him, but he shrugs her off. "We need to find out more about these… _powers_ ," she says, crossing her arms. "And about Medusa, and how we can stop her -"

"Powers? What did he do?" Stein interrupts.

"Later, Stein," Maka says, giving him a warning glance.

"I don't care about any of that!" Soul shouts.

"You don't - what part of _you have less than a year left to live_ refuses to get through your thick skull?!" Maka yells back.

"I don't fucking care if I have nine months or nine hours! I'm rescuing Wes even if it's the last thing I do before I'm tossed into hell!" He stabs a finger at her. "And we'd _know_ where he is right now if it wasn't for you and your reckless, gun-happy ways -"

"She's a demon who wants to see you _burn in hell,_ of course I didn't set out the fucking welcome mat -"

"-if you just listened to me for _one goddamned second_ maybe we'd know more about Wes _and_ Medusa –“

" _All right_ , that's enough, you two." Stein unfolds himself from his chair and towers over them. "You both are tired and cranky and it'd be best if we all got some sleep and revisit this when we wake up."

"Since when do you care if we argue all night?" Soul mutters.

Stein raises an eyebrow. "Frankly, I don't. But if you continue on like this, you'll wake Spirit, and I believe we all would prefer to avoid that until we’re a little more rested."

"Fine," Maka says, tossing her hair. To Stein, she says, "We'll talk later." As for Soul, she stalks past him without a word, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to the basement behind her.

Stein sighs. "What did I just say?"

Soul makes as if to follow, but Stein catches his arm. "Wait. What exactly happened with the arachne? How did you kill it?"

"I…" The arachne's headless body twitches in his mind, and he says, "Beheading. I'll…tell you more details later."

He shrugs off Stein's hand, trudges his way up the stairs. Maka's closed door glares at him, and he ignores it along with the pang in his heart. The couch welcomes him, and he snuggles into an elaborate cross-stitched pillow, buries himself into the blankets. The sheets are soft, the room cool, and the living room is quiet without Maka's snuffles and restless movement.

And yet, sleep doesn't come easily. He stews in anger and frustration and a small thread of guilt, replaying their argument over and over, ignoring the voice telling him that she has a point and focusing instead on Wes, Wes's smile when he played his instrument, Wes's pout when Soul hid his magazines, Wes's shocked face when he said…when he told him…

* * *

Eight hours of sleep does, at least, make Maka far more agreeable to Papa's antics. She wakes to the smell of bacon and toast, gets ready over the clinking of dishes and his surprisingly melodious singing. It's reminiscent of Papa's victory breakfasts after he and Mama successfully saved a victim or rid a town of a monster, and she catches herself humming as she makes her way to the kitchen.

"Good afternoon sweetheart!" Papa crows as she takes her seat. Mickey Mouse chocolate chip pancakes grin at her with a bacon mouth and whipped cream eyes.

"Thank you, Papa," she says, giving him a small smile and digging in.

Soul stumbles into the kitchen soon afterwards. He stretches, yawns, and mumbles a good morning as he slouches into the seat next to her. He seems much improved too, she notes, though she can tell by the deep hollows under his eyes and the way he keeps nodding off over his eggs that he didn't get as much sleep as he should have. Their spat still sends up a chilly barrier between them, and he busies himself with the sliced bananas in his cereal while Maka picks at her pancake.

"Oh happy dayyy," Spirit trills, flipping eggs. "My darling daughter has come home agaaain." He twirls, handing a surly looking Stein a mug of coffee, who grunts and buries himself in the local newspaper.

Maka and Soul exchange exasperated glances, and the tension between them eases. Soul smirks and steals an ear off of her Mickey Mouse, and Maka downs his glass of orange juice in retaliation.

They recount their encounter with the arachne between mouthfuls. Maka narrates their confrontation in the cave and then, reluctantly, Soul describes the arachne's demise.

"It was…weird," Soul says, looking at his hands and frowning. "It was like…I could hear it. The blood in its veins and arteries. And somehow I was able to - to squeeze it, or pull at it, I don't know."

He falls silent, and Maka takes over, giving a brief account of their conversation with Medusa. Some of Soul's sourness comes back at the reminder of the demon's abscondence, and he broods over his coffee as she finishes.

"So what's the plan, honey?" Papa asks.

Maka tugs at a strand of her hair. "Talk to the witch in Arizona - Tsubaki, I think her name was. She might know more about Arachne. Get our hands on a demon, maybe, see if any feel like talking about where Medusa is."

"I'll see if we have any leads," Papa says, collecting the dishes. Soul helps him, then mutters something about their jeep before disappearing. Stein follows soon after, depositing his coffee cup on the counter.

Maka takes Soul's place at the sink, falling into a familiar rhythm as Papa washes and hands the dishes off to her to dry. The quiet rush of the water and the clinking of plates is broken when he clears his throat. "I'm - I'm glad you're home, Maka."

"Mmm," she replies, picking up Soul's bowl. "We'll be leaving soon though, as soon as I can find a case to follow up on."

Papa scrubs hard at a pan. "You could stay for a while longer, you know," he says casually. "All that fast food isn't good for you, and I know Soul likes my cooking - he practically inhales it anytime you two visit." He concentrates on a small speck of rust near the handle. "Soul could stay in the other bedroom. Stein barely uses it anyway, and that partner of yours is getting too tall for the couch -"

"I think I'll call Tsubaki first," Maka says. "She might know of some demonic activity that needs investigation."

Papa doesn't say anything for a while. Maka finishes drying the last utensil and tosses her towel on the counter. "Thank you for breakfast, Papa," she says, softer, and leaves him there, alone with his regrets.

* * *

"Arachne?" Tsubaki echoes.

"Mmm." Maka shifts on her bed, and several books thump to the ground. "Stein said she's a powerful demon - one that can possess monsters."

"Hang on a minute, please," Tsubaki says, and Maka waits patiently through the sound of flipping pages. "Ah…"

"What is it?"

"Yes…I thought so." A heavy sigh, and then, "She's one of the few white-eyed demons I know of. Very, very powerful, as your Stein says. But her possession of monsters goes a bit deeper than just that. According to my notes, she views them as her children, and herself as a mother."

"A demon with a maternal instinct?" Maka says, skeptical.

"Mmm. Many monster species do seem to worship her, and she's achieved cult-like status among some of them. And prized above all are a rare monster race from Greece -"

"The arachne."

"Yes. According to the lore, it was Arachne herself who created them, and they act as her eyes and ears."

Maka chews on a knuckle. "So it's possible that where the arachne are, she might be as well?"

"It's probable," Tsubaki agrees. "Many glimpses of her throughout the centuries coincide with description of spider monsters terrorizing the area."

An awkward silence falls between them as Maka tries to think of how to word her next question.

"…How are you doing, Maka?" Tsubaki asks softly.

"Oh, um, I'm - I'm doing fine," Maka stutters. Tsubaki waits, and Maka feels compelled to add, "Soul and I are at my father's place right now, we…actually just came back from dealing with an arachne ourselves. And when we were on our way back, we met Medusa…" More details spill out of her, filling the gentle quiet of the room. Tsubaki listens, saying nothing more the occasional hum of agreement.

"Soul seems to be particularly good at getting himself into difficult situations," Tsubaki says finally.

"Tell me about it. You should have seen him when he first started out with me. Didn't even know how to throw a punch, much less how to behead a vampire." She sighs, running her finger against the spine of one of her books. "Not really his fault though. He wasn't born into this like I was."

"That's…unusual, isn't it?" Tsubaki asks. "I was always under the impression that most hunters picked this up after something tragic happened, later in life."

"Usually, but the Kamashi family has been doing this since before they moved to America. Mama was a hunter, and her mother before that, and her parents before that…"

"And now, you."

"Yep," she says, pride making her voice swell. "I taught Soul everything he knows." Thinking about her partner sobers her, and she says, quietly, "…He was never supposed to be a hunter, you know. He had a - a career, and everything. Seventeen and already playing in fancy concerts. But he and his brother, they were exploring an abandoned train station, and I didn't…" She takes a deep breath. "I didn't get there fast enough. I was too slow, and Wes - Wes paid the price."

She stares at the book's cover, digging her nails into the binding. "I messed up," she says, voice hard. "And if I hadn't, Wes would never have been taken, Soul wouldn't have wasted the last half decade stuck with me and running around America. He wouldn't have - none of this would have happened."

Tsubaki hums. "What does Soul think about all this?"

"Soul?" She blinks. "I-I don't know. He doesn't really…we don't really talk, about things like that. But he's been…different, ever since he made his deal. Quieter. Angrier. And that's not the only thing." She pauses, chewing on her lip. "Soul, he…something happened with the arachne yesterday. Soul kind of - killed it. With his mind."

"With his mind?"

"Yes, and he was - was humming. When he killed it." She shudders at the memory. "Medusa - she claims it was her doing. Tsubaki, your brother, did he ever act…strangely?"

"I'm not sure, Maka," Tsubaki says. "We hadn't talked in the three or four years before our fight. But when he confronted me, he was…more enraged than I'd seen him. He kept ranting about injustice and how I was a - a terrible, selfish sister." She sighs. "To be truthful, he'd said much of the same during our arguments before he cut off contact. And he did make a deal for the power of witchcraft, and you well know that the ability to kill in many different ways is part of that."

"Y-yeah." Maka taps her fingers on her knees. "I'm sorry," she blurts out. "For…for being so rude to you. It's just, witches…" She trails off, thinking of flames and tears, of leather jackets and cigars, before shaking her head. "No, there's no excuse. We came to you for help, and I was being…I was mean, and judgmental. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Tsubaki says, and try as she might Maka can't make out any resentment in her tone.

She bites on a knuckle. "If - if you ever need help from me, you can call. Or text, whatever. I'm not sure what I can do for you, but I want to. Stein - that's my uncle - he's one of the best resources for anything supernatural, and if he doesn't know, Papa's got an entire network of hunters and psychics to ask."

"Do any of them know about, ah…voodoo?" Tsubaki asks. "I'm not as familiar with some of the traditions of magic in this country, and I'd like to change that."

"You mean hoodoo?" Maka replies eagerly. "There's a difference, hoodoo is white magic - oh, I read an amazing book on the practice, specifically in making quinconce for fixing spells, I could lend it to you -" and the rest of the afternoon passes by in a happy blur as they exchange book recommendations. Tsubaki's laughter is soft and genuine, her comments witty and questions sharp with intelligence. Maka willfully shoves aside the knowledge that this connection, like nearly everything else in her life, is only temporary, and lets herself pretend, for just a little while, that she'll hear from Tsubaki again.

* * *

It's near nighttime when Soul finishes up with the jeep. There was something soothing to tending to it, something almost meditative in checking gauges and filling reservoirs, in soaping and drying it. It brings him back to his and Maka's first year together - him, a snot-nosed kid who didn't even know how to check the oil, and Maka, who had been helping maintain her family's vehicles since she was old enough to hold a ratchet. Her patience had been rewarded; he had taken over much of the jeep's regular upkeep, heaping more love and sweat into the car than Maka ever cared to.

He stretches, begins to towel the motor oil from his hands. The contrast of the dark grease on his long fingers makes him smile; what would his parents think of him now? Oil under his fingernails from working on his own car, callouses along his palms from wielding guns and knives, scars crisscrossing his skin from defending himself against vicious monsters.

Wes would probably demand that they get manicures.

The thought of his brother deflates his mood, and he decides against joining the Albarns and Stein for dinner. As much as it pains him to pass on Spirit's meatloaf, he feels exhausted, and bed (or rather, couch) sounds amazing right now.

He hovers over the bathroom sink, hands gripping either side of the basin. He looks like he's gotten about as much sleep as he feels he has; dark circles stand out against sallow skin. But there are other things that give him pause. He touches his hair - Maka had said it had been getting paler, but when did white-blond become the shade of fresh snow? And his eyes…maybe it was just a trick of the light, but they looked less like deep russet brown and more…dark maroon.

He opens the medicine cabinet forcefully, leaving the mirror to reflect the tub. He unravels dental floss, winds it around his fingers and tries to wedge it between his teeth only to have it immediately snap and he's left holding two frayed ends. He frowns, tries again, but the second piece severs as quickly as the first. "Stupid shitty floss," he grumbles, tossing it in the trash.

He digs around in their toiletry bag for a toothpick and closes the medicine cabinet, scowling at his reflection. He unwraps it, leans close and bares his teeth, only to pause. Were they…sharper than before? He runs an experimental finger along his canine, and pulls back quickly at the taste of metal. Droplets of blood ooze out from a nearly invisible cut on his fingertip.

Soul slowly lets his hand drift down, and he stares at the boy in the mirror, who suddenly looks a lot more intimidating and less…human than he remembers.

"What's happening to me?" he whispers, and the question reverberates off the bathroom tiles, but no answer comes.

* * *

Soul's still sleeping when Maka comes into the living room the next morning. She freezes, taking in his lanky body tangled in blankets, the fitful expression on his face.

She turns to creep back to her room, but there's a stirring behind her. "Mmm…Maka?"

She curses silently, and turns around. Half-lidded eyes greet her, and she swallows down a fluttering in her throat. "H-hey."

He blinks at her, sleepy, and the smallest of smiles curls around his mouth. "Hey."

He makes room for her on the couch, and she sits gingerly on one end. He shoves some of his blankets at her, still warm from his body heat, and accepts her peace offering of coffee. "What's up?" he asks, yawning.

"I might've found our next lead," she says. She lays a folder on the table, flips it open. "Papa told me about this case last night, and so I printed out the article…"

He picks it up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he skims the words.  “ ’Two dead near Rapid City in murder suicide pact'?"

"One was a schoolteacher from Kansas on vacation, the other was a nun who lived all of her life in South Dakota. They had no way of knowing each other, much less plan on committing suicide together. And neither of them showed any inclination of it the day before, according to their loved ones."

"Think it's demons?"

"Hope so." She shrugs. "Figure we'll go up there, check it out…maybe it'll be amicable to telling us where Arachne or Medusa is."

" _Am_ -ic-able," he corrects, leafing through the other articles in the folder. "Hey, what's this one? 'Rising river pollution suspected in deaths of three teens'?"

"Oh, um, sorry." She takes it from him, folds it in half. "A mistake, I didn't mean to print that-" she yawns, "one."

He peers at her. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

She shifts. "Enough."

"Makaaaa…"

"Fiiiine, I got five hours, okay?"

"Mmhm. And the fact that this article was printed at two in the morning means nothing, I guess."

"…Maybe it was more like three."

He groans. "Maka, _why_."

"I just got caught up in looking for cases." She doesn't mention how quiet her bedroom had been without his low mumbling in his sleep - a habit that had once driven her crazy, but that she now finds hard to sleep without. "It'll be fine!" she insists. "I'll sleep in the car."

He sighs, and lets her slurp at his coffee. "Guess that means we're leaving soon then?"

"Time's a-wasting, Soul." They both flinch at the too-heavy implications. "We'll leave in an hour," she says, more seriously, then pauses. "Does…does that sound okay to you?" she asks awkwardly, a peace offering in question form.

"I'll follow you wherever you go," he replies instantly, and she smiles.

"I think Papa made breakfast again," she says. "And he's packing us lunch so we'll have something for the road."

Soul perks up at the mention of food, and scrambles for clean clothing. She smothers a laugh, and leaves him to it.

* * *

She's deciding which of the books she'll take with them when she hears her door creak open. "Are you finished packing, darling?"

"Almost." She decides on _Ars Goetia_ and picks the others up to put away.

"It's a shame you couldn't stay longer," Papa says, coming to stand next to her. The scent of his ridiculously overpowering aftershave hits her nose, and she scowls, shoves the books into the bookshelves.

"Um, sweetheart." Papa's voice wavers nervously, and he clears his throat. "Darling, I was just wondering…"

"What is it Papa," Maka says flatly.

She can feel Papa's wince at her tone. "Sweetheart, what are you going to do? You know…when Soul's…gone?"

"Nothing, because he's not _going_ anywhere," Maka says fiercely. Papa shrivels even more under her scathing glare. "He's _not_ going to hell, and I don't care what anyone else says."

Papa spreads his hands meekly. "Of course, darling. If there's anyone who can break a demon's deal, it's you." The pride in his voice mollifies her somewhat, and she lessens her grip on her book. "But you're closer than you've been before to finding where his brother is. What are you going to do when he finds him? That is why he got into hunting, isn't it?"

"I -" she starts to say, then stops.

She hadn't thought about what it might mean for them if they found Wes. Sure, she had expected him to leave during their first year together, when she was still teaching Soul the ropes and having to make up for his blunders - when they were expecting Wes to be in just the next town over, or the town after that. But now…

Suddenly, the thought of going on jobs by herself - of only renting a one bed motel room, of planning out driving routes with only one driver, of having to constantly watch her back for surprises, seemed…difficult. Lonely.

When had she gotten so weak? Mama would be so disappointed in her.

"I'll keep hunting," Maka says. "I never expected him to stick around, anyway, Soul was just tagging along, like you said. He'll go home with Wes and I'll pick up where I left off." She hefts her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm a Kamashi, after all."

Papa opens his mouth, and Maka cuts him off. "No, Papa, for the _last_ time I'm not coming to live with you. Just because _you_ gave up doing this doesn't mean I have to."

"I know, sweetheart, it's just -" But Maka's sharp look makes him falter, and his eyes drop to the floor. "All right, Maka," he says quietly. "Whatever you want."

* * *

The road to Rapid City seems to shimmer in the heat of the noonday sun, and Maka replays her conversation with her father over and over in her head.

"Soul?" she says, interrupting his soft humming along to Diana Krall.

"Hm?"

She finds herself repeating her father's question. "What are you going to do? If - _when_ , when we find Wes."

"God, I don't know." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, brows furrowed in thought, but she doesn't miss the smile that plays around his mouth at the prospect. "Go back to Connecticut, to start. Take Wes back to our parents, tell them that he's - that we're both alive. God, they must be…" He trails off, expression falling, but shakes his head. "…We'd have a lot to catch up on. All of us would."

"Oh," Maka says, heart sinking. She waits for more, but he says nothing, and she sneaks a peek to see him lost in his own thoughts. _Stop it,_ she tells herself fiercely as she turns away to look out the window. _This was always temporary, you knew this. He's not supposed to be here - you're not supposed to have a partner. They're more trouble than they're worth, didn't Mama teach you that?_

A staccato of trumpets from the radio snaps Soul out of his daydream, and he eagerly reaches for the volume, turning it up with a quiet "yesss". " _That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the[air](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKvu-8Ac0x0),_ " he sings, and Maka can't help but smile.

His voice is rich, deep and smooth, every note precise. He lingers over the lyrics, infusing them with a warmth and depth of emotion that she could never hope to emulate. Still, he nudges her, singing, _"-that when you turned and smiled at me,"_ and she joins him for the chorus - " _a nightingale sang in Berkeley square."_ Her voice warbles, thin and offkey, but he seems pleased at her paltry contribution.

He belts out the next parts, imitates the blaring of the brass and sweep of the violins. His fingers span the steering wheel, pressing down on invisible keys as he plays along, and there's so much passion in every movement as he loses himself to the song. Her voice peters out, and she fades into the background, just watching him in his element, one that she appreciates, but can't understand, can't be a part of.

There's no room for either of them in each other's lives, the way their lives are supposed to be.

* * *

The mysterious murder suicides turn out to be a very sloppy siren, one that takes them four days to dispatch of. A murder in North Dakota reveals itself to be the work of a spirit, as well as another death in Idaho. A drowning in Montana isn't a monster _or_ a demon, but just an unfortunate swimmer caught in a deadly river current.

It's not until they investigate a killing in Wyoming that they finally hit upon pay dirt.

"Where is she?!" Soul demands. "Where is Arachne?"

" _I. Don't. Know!"_ the demon shrieks. Tears run down its face, but it glares at Soul as it spits, "Arachne couldn't care less about other demons! She'd never -"

It screams as Soul dumps more holy water on it, writhing and twisting against the ropes that bind it tightly to the chair. "I won't ask again," Soul says lowly. "Tell me where she is, or you're going straight back to hell."

"Then I'll see you there," it hisses.

Soul's hands clench into fists, and something about the look in his eyes has Maka reaching for his shoulder. "I'll take care of this," she says.

Soul jerks, starts to say something, then stops, rubbing at his temples. "Fine." He stalks off, muttering something about a headache.

Maka gets as close to the demon as she dares, careful to stay outside of the devil trap. "You may not know about Arachne," she says. "But I _know_ you know Medusa."

"Maybe," it says coyly, as if it hadn't just been shrieking in pain a few minutes ago. "Who wants to know?"

"Don't play dumb with me, demon. I can recite the words as well as he can."

"Oh yes, you must be Maka. His precious partner." It rocks back and forth on the chair, leering at her. "How does it feel to know that it was your recklessness that got him into this mess in the first place?"

"I didn't ask for your opinion," she snaps. "Where is Medusa?"

"You can't save him," it says, sneering. "He's going to die, die so painfully that he'll be cursing your name while he's being ripped to shreds. Just like your mama did."

Its head snaps back and Maka's fist throbs at the impact. " _Shut up_ ," she says, and wishes she imagined the tremble in her voice. "I won't ask again -"

"What, don't like being reminded that it was your fault she died? Just like it's your fault Soul made a deal? Traded his soul? Became a _monster_ -"

Her hands are around the demon's neck before it finishes. " _You don't know anything_ ," she hisses over the ringing in her ears. The demon's eyes find her, deep with malice, and she squeezes until the hate drains out of them and fear replaces it. Tears stream down its face and she realizes, abruptly, that its - _her_ eyes are blue, that the human the demon is inhabiting is suffocating, that _she's_ suffocating the girl -

She lets go immediately, taking deep breaths as if she was the one who was having the air cut off to her lungs. "E - _exorcizamus te,_ " she says shakily.

The demon groans, shuddering as Maka feels her way through the ritual. "You can't save him," it says again, and this time Maka doesn't stop reciting. "You can't, you know that, it's your fault, you can't save him, you _can't SAVE HI-"_

With a shriek, it tears out of the girl, pooling above her in a thick black cloud before it's sucked back down to hell.

"I will," Maka whispers in the silence that follows. But even to her ears, it sounds like a plea.

* * *

He's nursing a beer, wishing it was Cabernet, and watching Maka sweep the local arm wrestling champions of their money when there's a flash of blonde and green out the corner of his eye. He turns his head and makes eye contact with Medusa, staring at him from where she sits, half-hidden in the dark corner of a booth. Her smile widens.

Soul's hands shake as he carefully puts down his drink, but before he can get up, he feels heavy boots thud against his chair. Maka plops down next to him, resting her feet against his barstool. "Looks like we'll be eating well for the next week or so, Soul," Maka says, fanning herself with dollar bills.

"Joy," Soul deadpans, trying to cover his unease with a quick swig of beer. "Applebee's instead of McDonald's. A real treat."

She smacks his arm lightly, and he grunts. Something must show on his face though, because she pauses mid-motion and leans forward, peering at him. "…You okay?"

Soul forces a smile. "I'm fine. The alcohol here just sucks is all." Hel can't help but steal a quick glance towards Medusa, still in the booth. She shakes her head.

"…You know, we had a really rough day today," Soul says. He takes another sip of his drink, staring at the dark sticky wood of the bar. "Maybe you should head on back to the motel, get some sleep."

Maka gives him a strange look. "What about you?"

"I'll take a cab back." He shrugs, unable to look her in the eye. "I wouldn't be able to sleep right away anyway. Too many demons haunting my dreams."

Maka frowns, but sits back. "Suit yourself. Don’t stay out too late though, we're driving as soon as we get up tomorrow." With one last glance cast his way, she leaves.

He waits another five, ten minutes, not moving until the jeep's taillights have faded into the distance. When he looks away from the window, he meets Medusa's eyes, beckoning him closer.

Soul's blood roars in his ears as he slowly stands up. He wobbles a little as he makes his way across wheezing floorboards, and he wishes he could blame it on the alcohol.

"Soul," Medusa greets him as he approaches her. "I'm pleased to have you join me. Shall we have a drink? I happen to know where the bartender keeps some of his higher-quality whiskey."

"Shut up. I'm not here for pleasantries." He crosses his arms, still standing, looking down at her. "Where is Wes?"

"Oh, but we have so much to talk about." She lays a pale hand on his forearm; he shoves her hand away roughly. "Don't you want to know more about your new gifts? Our conversation was so…rudely interrupted the last time we spoke."

He stays silent, glowering at her. She affects a sigh. "I see that I can't dissuade you. Very well." She flaps her fingers at him. "Ask your question, and I'll answer it, as a show of good faith."

"Tell me where Wes is."

Medusa smirks, eyes boring into his, and gestures him closer. He bends, and she leans into him, braid tickling his neck. "Ask your partner," she breathes into his ear.

"Wha -" He jerks away. "Maka?"

"She didn't tell you?" Medusa puts a hand to her mouth, feigning surprise. "She's figured it out a while ago. Don't tell me you didn't know…unless…" she tilts her head, "she doesn't trust you?"

"Shut up!" he snaps. "Maka and I trust each other with our lives, she wouldn't - wouldn't keep -" He falters.

Medusa's eyes leave his as she takes a delicate sip of her drink, but he can see her smirk over the rim of her glass. "Perhaps I was mistaken. You would have to ask her."

"Maka," he says, voice trembling with rage, "is my _partner_. If she knew where Wes was, she would have told me."

"Of course she would," Medusa says soothingly. "Still…it wouldn't hurt to make sure, would it?" She arises from her seat. "Don't be a stranger, Soul," she says, patting his cheek, and Soul channels every bit of hatred he feels towards her in her glare. She laughs at his expression. "We'll talk later," she says, amused, and when Soul turns his head to tell her to fuck off, she's already gone.

* * *

Another case, another monster, another dead-end. He tries to tell himself that at least they saved someone from becoming another victim, but it's been a month since the arachne and frankly, it's wearing him thin. He's tired, frustrated, and covered in shapeshifter blood. Maka's in no better mood; she flips through her notebook with enough force to rip the pages, and his last inquiry of what she wanted for dinner earned him a terse "I don't care."

Still, Medusa's accusation rattles around and around in his head, and he finds himself meekly breaking the silence. "So, uh, Maka," he begins. "I was…I was thinking. About where Wes might be. And I -"

"I'm so sick of hearing about Wes," Maka says under her breath.

Soul goes very still. "Pardon?" he asks icily.

"I _said_ I'm sick of hearing about your brother!" She slams her notebook shut. "Wes this, Wes that - we're wasting time! Your time!"

"Well I'm sick of _you_ harping on me about this damn deal!" Soul fires back. " 'Guess what day it is, Soul'. 'You know it's been four weeks since we saw Tsubaki?'. 'Sure is feeling more like fall now'. I get it already!"

"Well too bad," she snaps. "You're stuck with it, and with me."

Shafts of light from the setting sun makes him yank the sun visor down, nearly tearing it out. He wishes very badly to take out his anger on the steering wheel the same way, but refrains out of respect for the jeep.

"You're going to get yourself killed going after him," Maka mutters.

"Yeah, well, guess we'll be one for one then," he says without thinking.

There's a silence, then, "Fuck you," she says, and Soul can see her blinking back tears. "You think I died on purpose? That I _wanted_ to be the reason you traded your soul to a demon, the reason you have only a year left?"

"That's - that's not what I meant -"

"I would rather," she says, deadly serious, "I would rather die again than watch you be torn apart by hell hounds. I would rather march through the gates of hell itself and throw myself on the rack, than have your soul taken by that bitch of a demon."

"I know," he says, and he does. "But I - we still have time, still have ten months. Wes doesn't and I…" He swallows. "I was responsible," he says. "I found the place. I made him go."

"You were just kids," Maka says, as if she wasn't only six months older than him, as if it wasn't just five years ago. "You couldn't have known about the monster. You didn't even know they existed."

Soul shakes his head. "You don't know, Maka," he says, staring out at the road. The fields that whip past takes him back to another trip, in another car, with another driver. "You only showed up after. You weren't there when…"

"When what, Soul?" Maka finally asks, when the silence stretches on too long between them. "What happened?"

Soul doesn't answer. Maka sighs, but for once doesn't push.

* * *

 _Famous Violin Virtuoso Disappears Along with Brother,_ the faded newspaper clipping declares. _Where Is Wesley Evans?_ another asks. His keychain feels smooth and cool under his fingers as he flips through the scrapbook, skimming headline after headline. He pauses at a news page mostly taken up by a photo of his family, peers down at a younger Soul who scowls off to the side as Wes drapes an arm around his shoulders and beams at the camera.

A soft thump interrupts his trance, and he looks up to see Maka hunched over the table, arms cradling her head as she snores. He frowns, looking back down at Wes's smiling face.

He closes the notebook and gets off the bed. "Maka," he says gruffly. "You need to get to bed."

Maka's eyebrows draw together and she mutters something, turning away from him.

"I know we have to find another case with a demon," he says patiently, stepping around the stacks of papers and books. "But you're not going to be any use to anyone if you don't get some sleep."

He gently closes her laptop, and lets himself stare at her while she's not awake enough to notice. This close, he can see the dark smudges underneath her eyes, and for the first time he realizes how _tired_ she is, how she's been driving herself on, burying herself in research. He feels a tendril of guilt reach through his suspicion.

"Come on," he says softly, laying a hand on her back. Maka buries herself further into her arms. He sighs. "Okay, fine, but you asked for this," he warns, and bends down to pick her up.

She's heavier than he expects, and he wobbles a little before he straightens, cradling her. Papers flutter from her arms, and Maka's head flops around before she curls into him, snuggling into his shoulder.

She breathes something into the crook of his neck, and he tilts his head to hear her better.

"Sorry," she whispers. "Sorry, sorry, _sorry_."

Soul feels his heart shrivel with shame, and he's about to shake her awake and tell her that she doesn't need to be sorry for anything, that he knows she's just worried about him, when something catches his eye amongst the papers.

He gently lays her down on top of her bed, where she immediately latches onto the pillow and sighs into it. He watches her for a moment, making sure she's actually asleep, before going back over to her desk.

It's buried beneath countless documents and books, but eventually he unearths what he had glimpsed - a map, with **_WES??_** scrawled across the top. Dots are scattered amongst cities and towns, with a few outliers, but most are concentrated in one area. _Burkburnett_ is circled in red, with a line attaching it to his brother's name.

The first thing Soul feels is confusion. Then he looks closer and recognizes one of the articles - the one she had printed out "by mistake" back at Spirit's.

_Ask your partner…_

The stinging whip of betrayal is drowned out in the seething rage that sweeps through him, blood catching fire. There's a pulsing in his ears, and his head pounds, and pounds, and he can hear - can hear the beating of Maka’s heart -

He wrenches himself away forcefully, clawing at his ears in order to drown out the shush of her blood. It's only when he's certain the only thing he hears is the rapid, angry hammering of his own heart that he lowers his hands.

She barely stirs as Soul sweeps her research off the table and into his bag, as he straps on his knives and tucks his gun in the waistband of his jeans. He pauses at the door, looking at her. Ash blonde hair fans out across the pillow, eyelids fluttering as she dreams. She's going to be absolutely furious when she wakes.

Good.

He leaves. The click of the door sounds like finality.


	5. the brother

"The train station was built in 1926," Wes says, Maserati humming quietly as he shifts gears. "They decided to construct it a good way away from the city, to avoid congestion, and because they expected the city's borders to eventually expand and encompass it."

"Fascinating," Soul drawls, cheek propped up on a hand, head resting against the window. His eyes follow the mile markers as they flash past.

"It's a pretty big building - fifteen stories of office towers, fourteen train platforms, and a huge mezzanine. Too big, it turned out, especially once the automobile started gaining popularity and people stopped using public transportation to go long distances. But at least that means there will be many areas for us to explore, right, Soul?"

"Mmhm." He sneaks a glance at his brother, who sits prim and proper in the driver's seat, hands perfectly aligned at ten and two. Wes is dressed down for the occasion, which means he's still wearing clothes that would immediately get him mugged. _It's weird seeing him outside of suits and tuxedos_ , Soul thinks as he turns back to the window. Not that Wes’s busy schedule had allowed him to see much of him at all lately.

Soul jerks as something lands in his lap. "Wha-" He picks it up, and it throws off specks of light from the sun as it twists around on its chain. _Chicago Symphony Orchestra,_ the keychain declares.

"Got you something from Chicago," Wes says. "Like it?"

"Yeah, thanks," Soul says abruptly, letting it fall with a jingle back into his lap. Chicago Symphony. The orchestra that Wes had gotten a personal invitation to play for, as one of the youngest invitees in their history. The orchestra that Soul had auditioned for, only to be met with polite but cold expressions and an official letter inviting him to try again next year.

The slowing of the car jostles him out of his brooding. "We're here!" Wes sings as he puts the car in park. "Chin up, little brother, it's time for adventure!"

"It's just an old train station," Soul grumbles, as if he wasn't the one who suggested this in the first place. He gets out of the car, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.

"Adventure," Wes insists, shoving a duffel bag at him.

Soul grunts. "What's even _in_ this?" he asks, unzipping it and rifling through the top items. "Flashlights? Blankets? Freeze dried food? Wes, we're going to be here for two hours max, not for a week."

"Welllll," Wes says, "maybe we'll only be _here_ for a few hours, buuuut Allegany is only an hour's drive away…"

"Allegany?" Soul repeats, surprised. "We haven't been there since I was ten."

"Exactly! I thought after we explored here, we could go to one of the restaurants in town, then camp out there for the night and drive home in the morning." Wes beams at him as he clicks the trunk closed. "I was able to beg off performing in Cleveland this week so I could spend it out here with you. It's three o'clock right now, if we stay here for two hours that means it'll almost be time for dinner..."

Cleveland Orchestra, another name in the rejection letter pile on Soul's desk. "I don't think I can," he blurts out, cutting across Wes’s scheduling.

Wes stops mid-word, and frowns. "Why?"

"I have to uh, study. For a test at school."

Wes’s face creases in confusion. "Isn't it summer break for you?"

"Y-yeah but they um, gave us…quizzes. That we need to take. As summer homework."

"I can help you study. Oh, I know! We can have a campfire and I'll quiz you while we roast marshmallows." Wes begins to warm to the idea. "What's it on? English? Math? Science? I did quite well in senior year…"

'Quite well' is an understatement - he aced every subject, as Soul's teachers and parents often remind him. "I think it would be better if I studied by myself, at home," Soul says, a little too sharply.

Wes falters, mouth flapping uselessly, and Soul forces himself to look away, pretends to study the smudges of dirt on the Maserati.

"Well…well, we'll just have more time to explore the station then," Wes says, with mustered cheer. He locks the car and turns to Soul, smile dimmed with disappointment.

"Yeah," Soul says. "Hey, I think they have a chandelier in here, a real one where you could put candles in it."

"It's electric," Wes corrects, "a novelty at the time, since the place was built in -"

"1926, I know, I know. Come on, you nerd, let's just get inside."

The station has clearly seen better days; the outside of the building is smothered in graffiti, weeds choke the gravel pathways, and the letters on the face of the building have been made illegible by time. But there's still evidence of its stately beauty here and there, especially as they slip into the concourse. Elaborate geometric shapes march across the ceiling, unsullied by vandalism. Worn-down columns frame the ticket booths, and the ornamental carvings on the walls wouldn't look out of place at some of the concert halls Wes performs at.

"Soul?" comes Wes’s voice, echoing in the vast space. Soul hates himself for how small and tentative Wes sounds, even while a part of him seeps in vicious pleasure. "I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I know I missed your recital last Tuesday, and I really did try to make it, but -"

"It's not - it's not that, Wes," Soul says awkwardly. "It's just…"

"Is it because I didn't help you sneak out to go see that Norah Jones concert? Because Mom and Dad have been worried -"

" _No_ , it wasn't that either, it's - could you just drop it?"

Wes’s silence smarts, and Soul hurries down marbled floors to avoid the chase of guilt that accompanies it.

Something red catches his eye through one of the ticket booths. He struggles over the counter, and draws closer to the interesting pattern. It looks like a later addition, and something about it feels…strange. Sinister. He hears quiet footsteps sound behind him and pause.

"Hey, do you recognize this?" he asks Wes, squinting at the worn away paint.

No answer. Soul sighs. "Listen, Wes, I'm sorry, I just don't -" he turns, "want to talk about it right…now…"

It's not Wes. The man is tall and burly, with strange tattoos writhing on his bald scalp. Soul backs up against the wall as the stranger advances, hands reaching.

"W-" Soul tries to say, " _W-WES -"_

The man's hands are rough against his face, and Soul's last thought is that they're cold, so cold, and he's going to freeze…

* * *

 And then -

He's on stage. The spotlight is harsh and he's sweating in his pinstripe suit. Music flows from his fingertips, a steady stream of beautifully woven notes. The crowd is spellbound, rapt.

He finishes the piece to stunned silence, then thunderous applause. He bows. Dark red velvet curtains slide across to hide the audience from him, and he passes a fond hand over the gleaming piano before exiting.

As he makes his way through the crowd, nodding and accepting congratulations, snippets of conversations filter through his ears -

" - can't believe I was able to get tickets, his concerts sell out months in advance - "

" - original composition, truly moving and unique - "

" - the most talented Evans for generations - "

"- much better than his brother - "

"Soul." Wes greets him with a tired smile. "You were amazing today, little brother."

"Thanks, Wes," Soul says, and accepts his congratulatory hug. "I thought your violin performance was really good too."

"Excuse me?" A woman approaches them, touching her diamond necklace. "Solomon Evans?"

"Just Soul, please."

"An honor," she says in a soft British accent. She holds out a hand; he takes it, shaking firmly. "I was in the audience, and I must say, I'm incredibly impressed with your performance. You've got quite a talent for the piano, and for composing."

"Thank you."

"I happen to be a representative of the London Symphony Orchestra. I'm of the opinion that you would fit in well with one of the concerts we're hoping to…" She pauses, looking at Wes.

"This is my brother," Soul introduces. "Wesley Evans."

"Ah, the violinist in the family." She smiles, but doesn't offer a handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard good things about your playing."

"Thank you," Wes says stiffly.

"You must be so proud of your younger brother."

"He has a gift for music." Wes’s words are automatic and overly polite, but the smile he gives Soul is warm and fond, and Soul glows with pride.

_-oul!_

Soul blinks, looking around. A few people glance at him curiously, recognizing his signature pinstripe suit, but the majority are still engrossed in their conversations.

"As I was saying," the lady continues, "I was hoping to extend an invitation to your brother -"

"I see," Wes says. "In that case, I'll take my leave. Soul, would you like me to wait for you outside so we can go back together?"

_Soul!_

"Soul?"

Soul shakes his head. "I - sorry. Could you just stay a minute longer?"

A pained look crosses over Wes’s face. "I'd rather not," he says quietly, but doesn't leave.

The lady looks between the two of them, but doesn't comment. "We'll be holding auditions next week," she says instead. "We'd be delighted to have you participate, if you have the time."

"I'd love to," Soul replies, feeling heady with the prospect of performing for London, _the_ London Symphony Orchestra. His parents will be so proud.

_-ake up, So-!_

The lights flicker briefly, and for a minute Soul thinks he sees -

"Are you okay?" the lady is asking, and Soul's hand is automatically seeking out the edge of Wes’s sleeve. "You look -"

_-ease please no, Soul!_

The ground rumbles beneath them, and people look around them in panic, chatter rising to alarmed voices. The chandelier above them swings wildly, and Soul turns to find Wes, but he's not there. No one is. The chandelier's chain snaps and crashes down, a cacophony of sound, and

_Soul!_

shatters as it hits the ground, and the light seeks him out, blinding him -

"Soul!"

Something's shaking him vigorously; he mumbles, protesting, and tries to push away but his body feels thick, unresponsive.

" _Soul!_ " someone says forcefully, and Soul manages enough energy to crack open an eye. A blurry vision of blond and white assaults him, before the shine of a flashlight has Soul squeezing his eyes against the intrusion.

"Oh god, Soul, we need to get out of here - need to get you down, what kind of crazy psycho fuck does this - don't, stop, stop moving you'll tear it out -"

Soul's tongue feels thick and too large for his mouth, but he attempts to garble, "Wes?"

"Hang on, Soul," comes his brother's voice, and Soul can hear the tremor in it, can hear the cavernous echo of panic it belays. "That _thing_ just - just snatched you out of nowhere and I tried to chase after it but it disappeared up the stairs, and we don't get reception so I couldn't call the police and I didn't want to leave you -" There's a snap, and Soul's arms drop as he lurches forward. "- so I came up here instead."

"Where…?"

"I don't know - old offices or something. _Shit_ , I hope these aren't contaminated -" there's a strange sliding sensation under the skin of his neck and what offices? There weren't any offices in the concert hall, were there? "- at least he didn't take much, fucking psycho, draining _blood_ , people are so fucked in the head -"

Everything feels fuzzy, and disconnected, like Soul's watching things happen to him through a screen. His arms are slowly regaining sensation with a burning vengeance, and they twitch when he tries to move them. Wes flings one over his shoulder, saying, "Come on, Soul, I can't carry you back by myself, you need to help me, it's not that far to the stairs back down to the car -"

The car? Soul moves his foot with Wes’s guidance, placing it in front of him, letting Wes coax him into putting weight onto it. Bits and pieces of memories flitter by him - the train station, Wes’s disappointed silence, expensive leather seats, the keychain, the rejection letters -

" _No_ ," Soul says, and pushes Wes’s hand away. "No, I don't want to be here -"

"I don't either, Soul, that's why we have to _go -_ "

"- take me back, the other place, don't wake me up, let me stay there -"

"Soul, Soul calm down, I need you to stay with me -"

" - don't wanna be second rate, don't wanna be the other Evans, _don't want to be your brother!"_

In the shocked silence that follows, as Wes’s face slowly crumples with hurt, Soul realizes that he's said something truly terrible, something that Wes won't so easily forgive with his usual boundless optimism.

He also realizes they aren't alone.

* * *

It happens so quickly.

Wes cries out as something grabs him from behind. Soul wobbles, bracing himself against the wall as Wes grapples with glowing blue flames, but there's no smoke, why isn't he burning? He reaches for his brother, and Wes is lifted by the flames and slammed into the wall. They're not flames, Soul realizes, they're tattoos, glowing up and down the strong arms choking Wes. Someone's crying Wes’s name over and over, and his brother stills as the hands grip his head, and Soul tries to make his body move to push the man away from his brother, and Wes’s eyes are rolling back in his head, mouth gaping open, and the man turns to Soul, eyes gleaming an unnatural blue in the darkness, and it's not a man, it's a _monster_ -

"HEY!"

Something loud explodes near Soul, kicking up dust, and it takes him a few seconds to realize it was a bullet. The monster whips around, still holding Wes, swinging limply in its grasp.

There's a person - a girl, small and fierce, illuminated by cracks of sunlight seeping through the boarded-up windows. "Let him go," she growls, aiming down the barrel of her shotgun.

The monster laughs. "Or what?" it asks, voice deep and ancient. "You'll kill me? Human guns don't work on me, little girl."

"I know," the girl replies, and something flashes in her hand - a dagger, blade dark with some sort of liquid. "But this will."

The monster pauses, giving Soul enough time to launch himself at it. He smacks clumsily into its chest, clawing at the hand holding his brother, shouting.

Then he's being yanked into the air, and those unnatural blue eyes fill his vision, its stinking breath washing over his face, and then there's a brief moment of weightlessness as he goes flying.

Something breaks his fall, and hands shove at him away as a voice yells, "Get off of me!" close to his ear and he's trying but his legs aren't cooperating and everything's spinning. There's the sound of footsteps dashing away, and his world tilts as he's pushed to the side, and he hears a "fuck!" before the girl reappears in his view, running after the monster.

"Wes," Soul tries to scream, but his throat feels raw and it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. " _Wes,"_ he tries again, but Wes is gone and the monster is gone and the girl is gone and he's alone, alone as his vision dims and the darkness takes him away.

* * *

He wakes up when the swerving of the car slams his head into the window.

"Asshole!" someone yells. Groggily, Soul opens his eyes to see a girl flipping someone off as she rights the car. Through bleary eyes, he studies his kidnapper. Her ash blonde hair is tied into two tight pigtails, and her oversized brown leather jacket looks like it's seen better days. Rough hands grip the steering wheel, and he can't help but note the long, muscular legs that jut out from her skirt. He’s never seen so many scars on someone his age before.

The girl notices him staring and gives him an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that," she says. "The people in your town do _not_ know how to drive. You'd think they'd be more careful with all their fancy cars." Another driver attempts to cut her off, and she jerks the car to the right, swearing, and the unexpected familiarity of the muttered "fuck" brings sluggish memories back to the surface.

"You…you're that girl," he says dumbly. "The one with the shotgun."

"Maka," she says. "Maka Albarn."

"Soul," he replies absently, still trying to piece together what happened. "What was that thing? Wait. Wait, where's Wes?"

He cranes his head around to check the backseat, but Wes is not there. He's not anywhere in the jeep. "Where's my brother?" he demands.

Maka sighs, and pulls over. She turns the car engine off and faces him, mouth tightened into a grim line.

"Listen. You and your brother…you two stumbled onto a very dangerous monster. A djinn."

"A what?"

"A djinn," she repeats patiently. "They feed on the blood of humans. Their touch will poison you slowly, but you won't know it, because it also causes hallucinations - makes you go into deep sleep where you live out whatever your heart desires in dreams as they slowly suck you dry."

Soul takes one look at her, with her green eyes laser-focused and serious, and bursts out laughing. "Okay, sure, whatever you say," he snorts.

"Don't pretend I'm making this up, Soul." Her eyes continue to bore into his, and his mouth goes dry under her stare. "I know you know it was real." Her fingers drift to his shirt, and the pads of her fingertips are cold as they press against the bruises on his jugular.

He shoves her hand away, pulling up on his collar. Maka lets her hands drop to her lap. "I scoured that place," she says. "Looked everywhere I could for your brother, but he and the djinn seem to have…disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Soul repeats.

"I'll keep looking, I promise," she says, and the fierce sincerity in her voice convinces him she's telling the truth. "But you need to go home to your parents before they realize you're missing."

"And what am I going to tell them when I get back without Wes?" he demands. "They know we were going together."

She shrugs. "Tell them that you decided to head home and he said he'd catch up with you later? I don't know."

Wes would never let him go home alone. Too obsessed with spending any semblance of time with his brother, he would have driven Soul back, talking his ear off about the ruins. Wes would have followed him up into his room and yammered on about his concerts outside the bathroom as Soul took a shower. He'd ask personal, probing questions, spinning around in Soul's chair as Soul buried his head beneath the covers and attempted to drown him out.

Wes never would have pushed him away, never would have abandoned him, alone in the dark.

"Take me with you," he insists.

"No. It's too dangerous."

"Take me with you or I swear to god the first thing I'm doing as soon as I get to a phone is calling the cops on you."

She rolls her eyes. "Please. You think these license plates are real? Not the first time I've escaped from the police, rich boy."

"Fine. Guess I'll just be taking this with me." Soul waves her leather-bound journal in front of her.

The girl's eyes narrow. "Give me that," she hisses, swiping for it.

Soul dodges, leaning backwards. "Not unless you turn this car around and help me find Wes," he snaps.

Maka huffs a sigh. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun?"

"Yeah," he says, for once grateful for all the stupid fancy shooting clubs and programs his parents had forced him into.

She eyes him. "Fine. But if we find him before we find the djinn, you get him out of there and leave the monster to me."

"Sure," he lies. "Whatever. Just go."

Maka rolls her eyes, but starts the car. "You better not get me killed."

* * *

They don't find anything. All traces of the djinn have disappeared; the only thing Soul finds is the keychain Wes gave him not twenty-four hours ago. He tucks it into his jacket.

They do, however, find a vengeful spirit that sinks its hands into Maka's chest until Soul dissipates it briefly with the swing of an iron fire poker. Maka follows up with dropping a lit match over the ghost's bones.

In the crackling of the fire, Maka looks over at him, shadows shifting over her face, and says, "Okay. You can come with me."

Soul's hands are still shaking and his heart is still trying to jump out of his chest. But he swallows, tamps down his fears, and tries to be cool. "Yeah?"

She nods. "Your lockpicking skills aren't worth a damn, and you can't navigate for shit, but you've got good instincts and you're quick on your feet." She shrugs, and says, "The spirit had me in a rough spot. Not sure how I'd have gotten out of it if you hadn't been there."

Honestly, it wasn't conscious planning or thought that had Soul grabbing iron to attack the ghost. He's not sure what it was - Maka's desperate gasp had provoked some instinct he hadn't realized he had, something that had him fumbling for the nearest weapon and charging at the spirit threatening her.

"Cool," he says instead.

She turns to him, sticks out a slender hand. "So? Partners?"

"Partners," he confirms, and her hand is warm in his as he shakes it.

* * *

Soul stands in the middle of Burkburnett, Texas, with enough illegal weaponry to land him in jail for at least as long as he's been partnered with Maka, enough salt to keep a driveway clear of snow for days, and $6.81 cents to his name. The cab's tires squeal as it leaves Soul behind.

The long drive here had given him time to cool down, and he's beginning to regret just running off without waking up Maka to talk about what she'd been keeping from him, or at least to let her know where he was going. Her sheaf of papers _had_ been vague - three disappearances and five mysterious poisonings in the past month, but nothing else beyond that. Maybe - maybe there was another reason he hadn't known about it; maybe she thought it was something other than an arachne killing people in town, or maybe this wasn't about Wes altogether and she had just doodled his name on the map while she was thinking.

Maybe she hadn't betrayed him, hadn't taken his blind faith in her and his willingness to let her decide where they go and used it to forward her own obsession with torturing demons for information they couldn't provide. Maybe she hadn't purposely kept him from the one person that he'd dedicated himself to saving other than her. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He hopes, more than anything, that he was mistaken.

According to the articles, most of the bodies had been found by the riverfront in one of the more industrial areas of the small town. Industrial, apparently, was a kind way of saying "shithole". Rusted chain fences are sunken in the ground that grows more trash than plants. Water laps away at crumbling pylons, and wood creaks underneath Soul's feet as he prowls along the docks. A cluster of corrugated warehouses slump along the shore, and a larger factory looms further on.

The first warehouse yields nothing but giant rats that hiss at him before skittering into the dark. A thorough examination by flashlight of the second reveals rotting newspapers, used condoms, and an old homeless woman who threatens him with a shiv. The other warehouses are similarly abandoned, and Soul turns to the factory.

It takes him less than a minute to pick the lock on the door. He eases it open, wincing at the shrieking of the hinges, and keeps a cautious hand on his weapon as he slips inside. The interior is vast - cement pillars disappear into the darkness above, and the thin beam of his flashlight fades out before it touches the other side. Broken glass crunches underneath his feet as he begins to search the area. Graffiti tags writhe across the walls, and Soul has the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. He finds himself wishing for Maka's strong grip in his, for her bright, reassuring presence beside him.

His heart beats loudly in his ears as he begins to scan the area. Yet even as his latest hope of finding his brother begins to dim the more he searches through the crumbling stone and debris and finds nothing, a bittersweet relief spreads through him - Maka really _hadn't_ had anything to report, and _that_ was the reason she hadn't sat him down and told him -

There's a stirring in the corner, and Soul aims his gun at the movement. He advances slowly, keeping his sights trained on the blanket, and moves to pull it off, and -

"Wes," he gasps.

He looks…he looks terrible. Soul knows it's been five years, knows that he himself has changed enough so that Wes probably would have trouble recognizing him. But where Soul gained muscle, Wes looks gaunt. Soul shot up in height; Wes looks smaller than ever, huddled in the corner. His brother had always been lean and delicate, but now he looks fragile, bones jutting beneath his skin, hair dirty and long.

And underneath the shock of his condition is burning, curdling rage - _Maka had lied_.

His brother stirs as Soul scrambles towards him, kneeling next to him. "Wes," Soul whispers, pushing away his fury and doing a quick check for injuries. "Wes, wake up, we have to get out of here."

"S…Soul?" Wes’s voice is thin and reedy.

"Shh." No wounds - good.

Wes moans. Soul goes to help him up, but pauses. Carefully, he unscrews his flask and sprinkles some holy water over Wes’s grimy face. His eyes screw up in response, but he seems unaffected otherwise, and Soul breathes a sigh of relief. He pulls Wes’s arm around his shoulder and lifts him up with almost no effort.

"Wh-where are we?" Wes mumbles. "What happened?"

"Texas. We were - you got kidnapped, and I've been looking everywhere to find you." Soul begins to move towards the exit, saying, "Shh, now, don't speak, we need to get out of here."

"I…I remember…the station. There was a man, and you…"

Something clatters behind them - Soul whirls, but the light reveals nothing.

"…I found you," Wes is muttering, "You were strung up, there was a needle in your neck…

"Wes, shhh." Soul strains, but hears only the creaking of the timbers and the wind through the broken windows.

"…tried to get you down…"

"We have to go, have to hurry _._ " He begins to lengthen his stride, dragging along Wes with him.

"…something choking me, and you…" Wes stops suddenly, Soul stumbling forward.

"You left me there," Wes says.

Soul turns. "W-what?"

"With the djinn." Wes’s eyes are watching him, heavy with accusation. "I tried to save you. Tried to help you, to get us both out of there. But you told me -"

"Wes, no, I wasn't thinking right -"

"You told me," Wes continues, voice growing louder, "that you didn't _want_ to be saved. You told me that you were _sick_ of me -"

"I didn't -"

" - that you would rather DIE than be my brother -"

" _No!_ I never said -"

"Now, does that sound very BROTHERLY to YOU?!"

There's movement on the ceiling, and Soul risks a glance upwards to see -

Arachne. Dozens, maybe more, a swarm that covers the ceiling. They watch silently, still.

"Wes?" Soul's voice comes out calm as he slowly reaches into his pocket. "Wes, we need to get out of here."

"Maybe I've decided to stay here," Wes continues, folding his arms. The arachne begin to descend from the rafters, but stay a safe distance away, waiting, eyes glittering. "Maybe I've realized that blood isn't thicker than water - that I need to find family where I can, since my own decided he no longer wanted anything to do with me."

Soul mutters something, shrinking into himself as the arachne form a circle around the two.

"What was that?" Wes steps closer, leaning in. "I couldn't quite hear you -"

He rears back, hissing and shielding himself with his arms as Soul's spray of salt whips against him, sizzling where it hits skin. "I _said_ , fuck you -" Soul points his gun at Wes, warding off the arachne with a dagger in the other hand "- and stop pretending to be my brother, you sick bastard."

Wes - no, the _monster_ begins to laugh in his brother's rich timbre. "Now, little brother," he says, "you're going to have to do better than that."

"Don't call me that," Soul hisses. He has an uneasy feeling that the reason the arachne are merely watching instead of seizing him is not because of his paltry six inches of dull steel. He grips his weapons tighter to keep them from wavering. "Who are you?"

Wes gives a flawless bow. His eyes, when they rise to meet Soul's, are a milky white. "The demon Arachne. Mother of monsters. You may have heard of me - I've certainly heard of you _, murderer_." Wes’s pale blue eyes reappear when he blinks, and flicker as Arachne studies his face. "So you're what my little sister has cooked up this time, hmm? Not very impressive, but then, her experiments never do work the way she hopes them to."

Soul's mind is still stuck on her name, and he blurts out, dumbly, "But I…you didn't react to the holy water -"

"Please. I'm far too powerful for something as weak as _water_ to harm me." Arachne hums, smoothing down Wes’s hair and touching his face. "Oh, it's been so _long_ since I've walked around in a human meatsuit. Werewolves, vampires, wraiths - they're all very nice, of course, much more powerful, but oh," she sighs, "there's just something about humans. Especially one as good looking as this one."

She rolls her eyes at his gun. "Come now, Soul, we both know you won't hurt me." She strides over, places the barrel of the gun directly over Wes’s heart. "Go on. Pull the trigger."

Soul grits his teeth, wills his fingers to move. Arachne leans closer, Wes’s blond hair brushing against Soul's temple. "He's still awake, you know. I can hear him. He's screaming, 'Soul, please, please just kill me, put me out of my misery, baby brother…’ ”

Soul's hands shake, and he presses the gun deeper into Wes’s chest.

"But you're not his brother anymore, are you? Not after what you said to him."

And with that, the fight goes out of Soul. His arms fall away, and Soul blinks back tears as Arachne chuckles, voice deep with mirth. "As I thought." She flicks a finger, and the gun is ripped out of his grasp, goes spinning off into the shadows. Soul offers no resistance as his brother's hands tilt his face upwards, and he stares into Wes’s eyes, made unfamiliar with the malice behind them.

"I could kill you right now, you know," Arachne murmurs, caressing his cheek. "I'd even let Wesley out, let him cry as he watches as his beloved brother bleed out in front of him."

"Let him go," Soul whispers, heart pounding in his ears.

"Mmm, no, I don't think so. I think I'll kill you first. Or maybe I'll have one of my children turn you - how does that sound, becoming an arachne? The two brothers, united at last -"

" _LET HIM GO!"_ he screams, and _pulls_.

Arachne's hands pause, mid-gesture, a frown creasing Wes’s face, and he can hear it, the blood slushing through Wes’s body, can feel his heart pushing it to his arms, through his wrists, to his fingertips. Desperate, Soul strains, pushing past the unbearable pressure in his head, willing the blood to move, and Wes’s eyes widen as his fingers twitch, reaching for his own neck.

It feels like his eyes are going to be squeezed out of their sockets, and the beating of his own heart is loud, too loud. He covers his ears, trying to focus on the singing of Wes’s blood, but he can't hear anything except his own pulse and the sound of laughter, Arachne's laughter - it crashes through his concentration, and his vision wobbles, and she won't stop laughing, Wes won't stop laughing, laughing at him and his stupid idea to come and rescue him -

But Wes’s mouth isn't moving, isn't stretched into a wide grin, and it's with a start that Soul realizes the laughter is coming from _him_ , barking, maniacal laughter -

He shoves his hands in his mouth, bites down, too-sharp teeth slicing into his fingers. The bright pain and taste of metal and tar drills a hole in his skull, pressure dissipating through it.

Wes stands, unaffected, expression predatory. "Interesting," Arachne says. "Perhaps you're not quite the failure I thought you were."

She snaps her fingers, and her arachne descend upon him. He's forced to his knees, arms bound behind him, and he tries to listen, to hear their blood sing, but he can't hear anything over the pounding in his head, splitting his thoughts and his feeble attempts to fight back. Arachne's saying something, Arachne, the demon that took Wes, that has Wes, who he should have killed when he had the chance.

But her face is still the face of his brother, and he can't help the whispered name that falls from his mouth. Wes’s lips curl into a gentle smile and for a minute Soul's seven again, looking for pride in the features of person he loves most.

Then Wes’s grin widens and his expression changes into something mocking and sinister, and something hits Soul hard in the back of the head. He falls forward, and he's failed, failed his brother, failed Maka, failed himself, and the devastation follows him into the dark.


	6. the sisters

"I am going to fucking _murder_ Soul," Maka growls.

She presses down on the gas and the jeep rumbles as it speeds up. Burkburnett's about three hours away, less if she's speeding. It's possible that she might be able to catch up with him, but she has no idea when he’s left - when he found her papers, when he ran off without bothering to bring her along or even leave a note. She clutches the steering wheel, and coaxes more speed out of the engine.

About five miles outside of the town limits, there's a girl standing in the middle of the road. Her short blonde hair flares out from her face as she waves her arms wildly. Maka would have no problem zooming by if it weren't for the fact that it would mean running her over, and she currently has only enough murderous rage in her for one, very specific, human.

Reluctantly, she comes to a stop. The girl runs up to the driver's side and splays her hands on the window, and Maka is forced to roll it down. "Listen," she begins, "I'm kind of in a hurry here -"

"What a co-in-ci-dink, I am too!" the girl replies cheerfully with the hint of a Brooklyn accent. "Mind giving me a ride into town, stranger?"

"Actually," Maka says through gritted teeth, "I do. Sor -"

She's cut off by the sudden appearance of a pistol aimed directly at her face. The girl smiles as Maka slowly takes her hands off the steering wheel and raises them in the air. "Wrong answer!" the girl says, and cocks her head to the side. "Wanna try again?"

 

Maka shakes her head, mouth a tight line. "Good!" the girl replies, and keeps the gun trained on her as she makes her way over to the passenger side. The car door slams, and there's a click that has Maka sweating until she realizes it's just the girl buckling herself in.

The girl kicks her feet up, and a small, unintimidated part of Maka's mind casually observes that Soul is going to be pissed at the dirt marks she leaves on the dashboard. "Now drive," the girl orders. "Hurry up about it too, will ya?"

"Where am I going?" Maka asks tersely.

"Just keep goin' along this road," the girl replies, unwrapping a piece of gum with one hand and popping it into her mouth. "I'll tell you when to turn."

Maka grits her teeth and peels out on the pavement. _Here I come to rescue you Soul,_ she thinks. _Hopefully_ you _won't have to rescue_ me.

* * *

The sax croons, and the piano plinks out notes. The demon perches on the arm of the loveseat across from him, legs crossed and chin propped in its hand as it regards him with curious eyes.

"You're getting stronger," it says. "It was more out of surprise than anything that caused Arachne's grasp to briefly slip and allowed you to move Wes’s hands, but it's something."

Soul opens his mouth to reply, but -

_Bang!_

\- curtains tremble, candles flickering in their holders, and -

_Bang!_

\- the room is gone.

He comes around to the sound of banging pipes and a steady stream of creative curses.

"Makaaa," he slurs, "just call the front desk, they'll fix it…"

"Who's Maka?"

He cracks an eye open. The smell of mildew and wet dirt assaults his nose. Dim light filters in through small, grimy windows set high in the surrounding concrete walls. There's a tightness in his wrists, something digging into them, and he tries to shift position only to find himself tied to what feels like cool, round metal - pipes.

There's a woman slouched next to him, scowling. Stringy, dirty blonde hair hangs in her face, parts of it swept back by a worn cowboy hat, and her jeans and leather jacket are grimy and torn. When she shifts, there's a hollow thud behind her - he realizes that she's also tied to the pipes, which probably accounted for the noise.

"Who are you?" Soul asks.

"I asked you a question." Ice blue eyes narrow at him.

Soul rolls his eyes. "Maka is my partner."

The woman squints at him. "You British or something? Fancy way of saying your girlfriend."

"No," Soul says, feeling his face heat. Apparently even when faced with certain death, he's still able to be embarrassed by something as trivial as relationships. "Just…my, uh, business partner. We work together."

"Uh huh. Weird place to be doing business."

"Yeah well, our job isn't really conventional," Soul mutters.

He gives his bonds a couple of yanks, but they're too tight to slip out of. They must have stripped him when he was unconscious, because his switchblade is conspicuously absent, along with his holy water flask, salt, lockpicks, and other knives. He's never felt more naked.

The woman shifts. "So besides your _partner_ -" and Soul can practically hear the quotation marks around the word, "anyone else know you're missin'?"

"No."

"Any idea of where your partner is?"

"Yeah. She's back at our motel. I, uh, left her there."

The woman's eyebrows raise higher, and Soul flushes. " _It's not like that_ ," he says forcefully.

"Sure it isn't," the woman drawls. "What a gentleman you are. Leaving your lover asleep in bed while you, what, decided to come check out some creepy house in the middle of nowheresville?" She flips her hair out of her face. "There are nicer ways to break up with a girl, you know."

"She's not - I didn't -" Soul sputters, then stops. "…I don't have to explain myself to you," he says finally, scowling at her. "What the hell are _you_ doing here anyway, besides being the world's worst roommate."

“ ’ _I don't have to explain myself to you'_ ," she mimics. Soul's hit with the brief urge to kick her. She smirks at him like she knows what he's thinking. "Unlike you, though, I have someone coming to rescue me, instead of burying me ten feet under for abandoning them."

Soul opens his mouth to respond that Maka wouldn't do that because they _weren't like that_ \- then remembers that Maka's probably awake by now and enraged beyond belief that Soul went off to face Arachne alone. He slowly closes his mouth.

They're interrupted by the sound of thumping coming from the floorboards above them. Soul tenses, wishing desperately for some form of weapon. The creaking continues on, fading as it moves away.

Soul side-eyes the woman. As unpleasant company as she is, she probably deserves to know what she's up against. "So…" he begins. "What uh, led you down here?"

"Oh y'know, just thought, 'where could I possibly hide from a chick that I got it on with and decided to leave' -"

"Okay, _enough_ ," Soul says, cutting her off. "In case you couldn't tell, we're not exactly in a great situation, so how about we lay off the sniping? I’m just as captive as you are." He pulls on his restraints to demonstrate.

"…Was looking for something," she mutters. "Heard it was here. Poked around in some of the warehouses in town looking for it, but got jumped. Saw my sister get away, but I wasn't as lucky."

"What did you think you could find _here_?" Soul asks, curious. The woman stays silent, and Soul shrugs. "Okay, whatever, don't tell me. But uh, whatever jumped you…did they have weird skin? Or strange eyes, like they had two irises?"

She's looking at him now, regarding him seriously. "…Yeah," she says. "How did you know?"

Soul takes a deep breath. "Okay, I know this is going to sound really crazy, because believe me, it sounded crazy to me too when someone explained it to me, but…that was an arachne. It's a spider monster that uh, poisons humans and can turn them into other arachne if they bite them."

She cocks her head, and Soul hastens to add, "I told you, it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true. All the monsters that most people believe are just horror stories are real, and me and my partner, we uh, travel around and -"

"Wait," the woman says, something dawning on her face. "Wait, when you said _partner_ , did you mean -"

A door slams open, and both Soul and the woman stiffen and watch as Wes strolls into the room. "Well, well, well," he says, coming to a stop and propping up a hand on his hip. "I'm _so_ glad to see you two are getting along."

"Arachne," Soul growls, and Arachne flashes him a smug smile.

"Soul," she greets him pleasantly. "I’m happy to see you decided to stick around for our family reunion. And who do we have here?" she asks, turning to the woman. "Elizabeth Thompson, if I'm not mistaken. One half of the renowned vampire huntresses. Though hmm…" She looks around, tapping a finger to her chin. "It seems we've lost the other, haven't we? Where _did_ Patricia go?"

"Fuck you," the woman spits.

Arachne tuts. "Not setting a very good example for her now are you, Liz?" She pats Liz's cheek, and Liz flinches, baring her teeth. "Don't you worry about the little brat. She'll meet the same fate as you, _murderer._ "

Long fingers suddenly seize blonde tresses, and Soul winces in sympathy as Arachne yanks Liz away from the wall. Liz grunts as the bonds strain. "Do you have any idea how many of my children you've killed?" Arachne hisses, wrenching her hair. "The only reason you're alive now is because I want you to suffer as they did when you filled their veins with poison and sliced their heads off."

"Got what's coming to them," Liz grits out. "And so will you, so you can fucking go to hell, _bitch_."

Arachne sighs, then slaps Liz hard across the face. The sound reverberates in the small basement, and Soul clenches his hands into fists. "Perhaps I'll have some fun with Patty first," Arachne muses, tilting her head and tapping her chin with a finger. "Maybe I'll have one of my vampires make you into one of us -"

" _No_ ," Liz whispers.

"-and turn you loose on her. It would be poetic, don't you think?" A predatory smile spreads across her face. "Killed your parents to protect your little sister from being infected, only to have you kill her instead, seven years later."

"You fucking _bi-"_

Wes’s fist smashes into Liz's jaw, snapping her head back. "I'm done talking to you," Arachne says. "Be a good girl and shut your fucking mouth."

Liz glares, spits blood, but says nothing.

"Good. Now." Soul's mouth goes dry as Arachne turns to him. "Soul, Soul, Soul," she croons. "You've become _very_ interesting to me, which is good news for you."

"Great, thanks," Soul growls, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. "Don't restrain yourself on my behalf."

Arachne crouches down next to him, eyes glittering in the dim light. "My rugaru wasn't wrong when it told me you were special." She runs a long finger down his chest. Soul shivers, shrinking back against the wall. "It tasted the potential in your blood, potential you showed me when you stopped me from killing you." Her lips curve into a smile. "We're going to have a lot of fun together, little brother," she whispers.

"Fuck you," he says shakily, echoing Liz.

Arachne huffs a laugh. She ruffles Soul's hair, and the action is so familiar that Soul has to close his eyes and clench his jaw tightly to ward off the nostalgic feeling. "You two are such a bad influence on each other," she says fondly. "Do try to get along now, will you?" She nods to one of the arachne that came with her as she leaves; it stays behind and stands in front of the door, watching them.

"You okay?" Soul asks tentatively in the silence that follows.

Liz spits. "…Been better," she says, voice rough. "Why is that thing interested in you? What the fuck is it, anyway? Didn't see _him_ when we were lookin' for vamps."

"Her," Soul corrects. "That's not - it's not him, he's been possessed by a demon."

"With white eyes?" she asks, skeptical. "We've run into a few demons, but they've always had black eyes."

"Yeah well, lucky you, you've only met the lowest rung on the demon totem pole," Soul mutters. "This one makes them look like toddlers knocking down sandcastles."

"H-uh," Liz says. "Wonderful. Who's the poor sap she's possessing then?"

Soul sighs. "That would be my brother."

She stares at him, then shakes her head. "Well, this just keeps getting better and better."

* * *

 " _HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"_

Maka's surprised that the steering wheel hasn't cracked under the force of her grip. The girl had quickly ratcheted up her 'to-murder' list, and was currently vying for third place with Soul underneath Medusa and Arachne. So much for only having enough anger to kill just one person today.

_"Why don't you hit me with your best shot!"_ the girl sings at the top of her lungs. Maka grits her teeth and tries to concentrate on the road. " _Hit me with your best shot! Fire aw -_ turn here, here!" The girl raps her knuckles on her window, and Maka dutifully turns right. Bits of trash flutter in the wake of the car, and most of the houses on the street sport splintered wood instead of glass windows.

"Sooooooooo," the girl draws out, popping her gum. "What brings ya to middle of nowhere, Missouri?"

"I should be asking you that," Maka grumbles.

She shrugs, waving her weapon lazily in the air. "I got the gun, so I get the answers."

"I was, uh, looking for…” If only that _stupid fucking song_ would stop blaring from the speakers, she might be able to come up with a proper lie. “My…person?”

"WRONG." Patty cocks her gun. "Try again."

“ _Fine,”_ she snarls. “My partner went running off on his own to confront a demon that's holding his brother hostage, and probably is being tortured as we speak. Now I have to go in and rescue his sorry ass before he does something stupid like die."

The girl gasps. "No way! Me too!"

Maka stops the car and looks over at her. "What?" she asks.

The girl bounces eagerly in her seat. "Sis and me, we've been huntin' down these vamps, and thought there was a nest around here, but turns out there were these ugly freaky-eyed guys instead, and I was able to get away but she got captured, so I decided that I'd hijack a car and stage a rescue for her!" She sticks the gun back in her waistband and holds out a hand. "I'm Patty by the way, nice to meet'cha, didn't know you were a hunter."

Maka gingerly takes the proffered hand, head whirling from the turn of events. "Maka," she says faintly. "Wait, did you say weird-eyes?"

Patty nods. "Yeah, they had like, two irises or something."

_The arachne_. "When was this?" Maka demands. "Did you - was there a guy there, tall, white-blond hair, dark eyes?"

She shakes her head. "It was, I dunno, yesterday afternoon? Usually if Sis and me get separated we meet up later at a restaurant, but she never showed up. And I don't know about any guy…"

"No, never mind. He was still with me then. Where's this warehouse?"

"I'm leadin' you to it! Turn left at the intersection, I think."

The factory Patty directs them to definitely looks like the type of place monsters would lurk in. The door yawns open, and broken windows watch as Maka rummages around in the trunk for weaponry. She goes to loan Patty a machete, only to have the girl pull out a meticulously sharpened cleaver. Maka hands her salt and holy water instead.

They pick their way over rubble and trash, spreading out but staying within earshot of each other. Maka's eye is caught by one particularly complicated tag, bleeding a bright red. She frowns, stops and peers closer. Something about it looks…

"Over here!" Patty calls, and Maka hurries to her side. "Found something," she says, pulling a knife out of a pile of rubble.

"That's -" Maka swallows, and traces her fingers over the carving on the handle. "That's Soul's." She'd recognize his strange little pointy-toothed symbol anywhere.

"And this is Liz's." Patty holds up a plastic flask half full of dark red liquid. "Dead man's blood." She tucks it into her jacket. "Think they were taken together?"

Maka sighs. "Could be. But to where?"

Patty shrugs, chewing on the ends of her hood strings. "Now what?" she asks eventually.

Maka takes out her phone. "Now we ask for help."

"Hello Maka!" Tsubaki's voice is warm over the phone, and Maka feels just the tiniest bit of anxiety drift free at her tone. "I was just thinking of calling you - I really loved that last book you recommended me, and was wondering -"

"Tsubaki," she says, and there's immediate silence over the phone. "I - I need your help."

"Of course - what do you need?"

"S-Soul -" Maka swallows, then starts again. "Soul has gone missing, and I-I don't know how to find him by regular ways. I was wondering if you had some sort of…witchy way that could tell me where he is."

Patty's eyebrows shoot up, and she mouths 'a witch?', to which she can do nothing but give a half shrug and a dismissive wave. "You mean magical?" Tsubaki asks, sounding amused. "I could do a simple tracking spell -"

"Yes! Yes, do that." She motions to Patty and starts to jog back to the car. "I think he's somewhere near Burkburnett, Texas. And um, please hurry. I think he might be in trouble."

A minute later, Tsubaki asks, "What's his full name?"

"Solomon Evans."

She tries not to think of his potential wellbeing as Tsubaki mutters words over the phone. Shortly afterwards, Tsubaki says, "It looks like he's somewhere between…Schmoker and Sullivan Road."

"Thank you, Tsubaki," Maka says gratefully as she enters the coordinates into her phone. "You're a lifesaver. Possibly literally."

"A witch?" Patty asks her as she hangs up. "You're asking a _witch_ for help?"

"Tsubaki's not like the others," Maka says as she starts the car. "She's helped me before, and we talk, and -"

"And you're not afraid that you're going to suddenly start coughing up teeth or find razors in your food?" Patty glances around the car. "Did you make sure there's no hex bags in here?"

"She's not that kind of witch!" she defends hotly. "Look, she gave us where Soul and your sister are probably tied up, does that sound like something an evil witch would do?"

"Yes," Patty says. "Send someone to a house, load it up with hex bags, anyone who enters dies within half an hour. Duh."

"She's in _Arizona_ ," Maka snaps. "And if you have a problem with her or with where she's sending us, then you can stay here and find another car to hold up, because I'm going with or without you."

Patty shrugs. "Fine. You're the one driving." She reclines her chair almost flat and begins to play with her pistol. "But if we do get into trouble 'cause of her, just know - I told you so."

* * *

The arachne's leaning against the door, playing cat's cradle with some web. Soul narrows his eyes at it, but nothing happens.

"What are you doing?" Liz whispers.

He jerks. "N-nothing."

“ ’Cause you got like, a great death glare going, but it's not really helping us out here any."

"I'm _aware_ , thanks." He leans slightly closer to her, keeping his eyes trained on the monster. "Do _you_ -?"

"No talking," the arachne barks.

Liz's foot jiggles next to him, and Soul gets an idea.

"So, renowned vampire huntress, huh?" he says loudly.

Liz eyes him. "…Yeah, me and my sister."

"So if you're so amazing, how did you get jumped by these small fry?"

The arachne rolls its eyes, but doesn't move.

"Um, because we were looking for vampires?" Liz says, incredulous. "Not…whatever the hell these freaks are."

"It's called, 'research'," Soul explains in as patronizing a tone as he can manage, honed by years of listening to his relatives and know-it-all Maka. "Can't believe you've gotten this far without doing something as basic as picking up a book."

Liz stares at him, mouth curling, and Soul gives her a small nudge and a meaningful look at the arachne.

She blinks, then smirks. "Oh yeah?" she says. "Who was the dumbass that left his partner behind?"

"I don't see yours around either," Soul snaps, stung.

"Least I didn't _abandon_ her. Hey, y'think your Macaw is awake by now? Wonder how she's feeling, waking up with you gone."

Probably worried beyond belief and covering it up with fury and violence. "Y-yeah well at least I…" he casts around wildly, eyes falling on her torn clothes. "At least _I_ have good fashion sense!" he blurts.

Liz's jaw drops. " _Excuse_ me? Since when did flannel and jeans count as _fashion_?"

"You're _literally_ wearing a cowboy hat."

"Th-that was Patty's idea! And you're one to talk, that jacket is blinding. Did you steal it from a construction worker?"

"It's _couture,_ " Soul sniffs. "Not that I would expect you to know what that means."

Liz raises her eyebrows. "Ooo, fancy words there. You wanna say that to my face?"

"I just _did -_ "

"All right, shut up you two," the arachne drawls, looking bored.

They ignore it. Liz glares at him. "I used to rob uppity punks like you blind back in New York -"

"Oh, so you're admitting to a criminal record now, nice -"

"We're hunters, idiot, y'think breaking and entering is _legal_?"

" _You're_ an idiot -"

"No, _you're_ an idiot -"

Soul aims a kick at her boots. Liz growls, and kicks him back harder. From there it devolves into a contest to see who can inflict the most pain with the unbound parts of their bodies. Soul elbows her in the ribs, leans away to miss her retaliating headbutt. She shoulders him in the chest instead, catching his chin on the way. His jaw clicks shut and pain lances through his tongue, along with the taste of blood. He swears and bares his teeth at her, and her eyes widen as she shrinks back.

"I said, enough!" The arachne makes as if to intervene, hands reaching to separate them.

Liz hooks a foot around its knees and yanks. It stumbles and falls forward, body crashing between them. Soul twists, shoving his elbow into its neck and slamming its head against the pipes.

It groans, and Liz takes over, keeping it incapacitated as Soul slips his shoes and socks off. He uses his feet to pat down the body, trying to concentrate over the hollow thuds of the arachne's head against the wall.

"Hurry up, they're gonna hear -"

“ ’M…tryi-" His toes brush against a handle, and he uses both feet to slide a knife out of the arachne's pockets. He kicks, skidding the weapon up to his hands, and fumbles with the blade, sawing at his bonds.

He gets free just as the monster worms its way out from beneath Liz's arm, and slices its head off.

Soul wipes blood from his eyes, and gets to work on Liz's restraints. "Did you have to hit me in the mouth?" he complains. "I think I bit my tongue."

Liz rolls her eyes, rubbing at her wrists. "Whatever. Suck it up, sharkie."

"…Sharkie?"

"Yeah, your teeth?" She accepts his hand, bracing herself against the wall as he pulls her upright. "If you wanna file them, be my guest, but you've got only yourself to blame when you hurt yourself 'cause of it."

Soul touches his teeth self-consciously as Liz searches the arachne's body. They…they do feel sharper, even more so than before. He turns his back to Liz, and uses the blade of the knife to check his reflection. He almost drops it when he sees a row of sharp, triangular teeth grinning back at him.

"Hey." He turns. Liz regards him with shrewd eyes. "Found another knife on him," she says, flipping it lazily. "Ready to get out of this shithole?"

He aims another kick at the body, forcing his new dentition out of his mind. "Thought you'd never ask," he says.

* * *

"Let's just go in and kill 'em," says Patty, using the binoculars to peer into the house.

"We're not even sure if it's the right one," Maka mutters, squinting at its neatly trimmed hedges and immaculately painted siding. Still, she grips her machete, watching the windows for movement.

"D'you see any other buildings on the road?" Patty replies, hand on the car handle. "Come on, let's go! Liz and Sal -"

" _Soul_ -"

"Whatever, your partner, they're probably waiting for us to rescue 'em, so hurry up!"

"Whatever happened to being afraid that it's a trap?" Maka asks, but gets only the slam of the door as her answer.

Maka follows suit, feeling the thrumming anticipation of a fight course through her body. Patty's already checking her gear, and although everything in Maka's body wants to charge forward alongside her, she feels the ghost of Soul's hand on her shoulder. "Wait."

Patty turns to her expectantly. "We should be careful," Maka says, thinking of what he would do. "Let's go around the back."

Patty shrugs and follows, shadowing her as she moves from tree to tree. Maka makes sure to look upwards this time, checking for webs or movement, but the small wooded area is mercifully clear of monsters. They find a hiding place near one of the windows, and slowly raise their heads to peek into the house.

It's a good thing they hadn’t gone charging in; just from their limited viewpoint of the dining room and kitchen, they can already see three arachne lounging on the counters and tables. The monsters laugh and toss something between them as they talk, though they're not loud enough for Maka to make out.

Suddenly, they all snap their heads around and straighten up, staring at something Maka can't see. She can feel the thundering of footsteps through the wall she's pressed up against, and soon after a man sweeps into the room.

Maka can't help the little gasp that escapes from her mouth, and ducks. She waits a few seconds, trying to calm herself, then cautiously raises her head again, and - and there was no mistaking it.

Patty nudges her. _What?_ she mouths.

"That’s - that's Soul's brother," she whispers back. She doesn't really remember his features from the first time they met, but his resemblance to Soul is uncanny.

_The arachne really_ did _have him,_ she thinks, heart sinking. _But…_

She risks another peek in. Wes stands there, arms crossed, frowning and speaking sharply to the arachne. He wears authority like a crown, and the arachne bow their heads deferentially to him as he gestures downwards. _Why are they answering to him?_

She narrows her eyes, watching him as he takes the thing that the monsters were tossing between them, dangling it from his fingers. It twirls, glinting gold, and she recognizes it immediately. "Soul's keychain," she breathes. Wes tosses it up and down, and something about the way his lip curls has Maka gripping her machete tighter.

A hollow thumping sound makes the two of them jump and duck down below the window. They look at each other, eyes wide. Patty takes a quick glance through the window. "They're gone," she says quietly.

"It sounded like it was coming from below," Maka says.

"Cellar? Basement?"

"Maybe that's where they're keeping them." Maka grips the windowsill, raising herself up to get another look at the layout. "We should go around the -"

Wes stares down at her, face blank. Maka falls backwards, catches herself and raises her machete. Their eyes meet, and Wes’s flicker white.

"Oh, look children," Wes says suddenly, lips peeling backwards to reveal perfect teeth. "More hunters have come to play."

* * *

Liz knows what she's doing at least. It takes them no more than thirty seconds to finish stripping the arachne's body of anything useful, and she automatically gets into position to cover him as he eases open the door. They slip silently from the basement up to the top of the stairs and pause, listening.

The floorboards creak, and the first of the arachne comes through into Liz's waiting blade. She slices its head off expertly, and the rest of its body tumbles down the stairs. Rapid footsteps approach, too many to count, and Soul and Liz look at each other briefly before mutually deciding to get the hell out of there.

They burst from the stairwell. There's a hiss and frantic chittering, and the arachne pound after them. Soul follows Liz's flapping jacket as she rounds a corner, and nearly skids into a low table, vase shattering on the floor. As they run down the hallway, one of the monsters steps out in front of them, claws outstretched. Liz doesn't even pause, just puts her head down and barrels forward into its stomach. It crumples, and Soul brings the knife to its neck and slices as she shrugs it off.

The sound of frantic yelling gets closer as they enter the living room, leaping over the coffee table and armchairs. Soul's heart lifts - he would recognize one of those voices anywhere.

"Maka!"

"Patty!"

As one, Soul and Liz throw themselves at the front door. It collapses under their combined force, and Soul squints at the sudden bright light as they stumble forward, shading his eyes.

There's a group of arachne in front of them, spread out and cutting them off from the three figures in the center. Maka's standing, machete outstretched and pointed threateningly at the arachne surrounding her, and next to her, a shorter blonde girl mimics her pose, teeth bared in a grin. In front of them, Wes stands, looking bored and utterly unintimidated.

Soul throws a glance over his shoulder, and sees more arachne pour out from the broken door, fanning out behind them and cutting off any escape routes.

"Soul. Liz." Wes’s smooth tenor brings Soul's attention back to him. "So nice of you to join us."

"Sis!" the girl next to Maka cries, elated. Maka doesn't say anything, but her eyes meet his and he can see the immense relief in them, as well as hardening resolve.

"Well, now that all of you are here, let's get rid of the extra baggage, shall we?" Arachne claps her hands. "Restrain the boy," she orders. "Take the sisters." Wes’s lip curls. "Kill the girl," she says, and her children charge.

A fist comes at Soul, and he ducks. He slams into the back of an arachne advancing on Liz, knocking it down. Another tries to sneak up on her left, and he stabs it through the flank, twists. Something grabs his leg, tripping him, and he kicks out, feels it connect. He scrambles forward, breath coming fast as he dodges hands trying to grab him.

Through a mass of flailing limbs, he catches a glimpse of Patty, fighting savagely, blade low to the ground as she slices at the hamstrings of those attacking her. He struggles through the crush of monsters, searching -

He sees the arachne before she does. "Maka!" he yells, and she whips her head around to look for him. The arachne pounces, and she tries to fend it off, but another leaps at her, and another - something sharp grazes his ribs, and he hisses, slashing blindly. The arachne screams as he slices an appendage off, but Soul doesn't stop, shoves past it, because Maka, he needs to get to -

She's pinned down, caught. Two arachne hang grimly onto her arms, forcing them behind her, wresting her machete from her hand. She bucks, almost toppling her captors, lashing out at the others trying to restrain her.

A hand reaches down, plucking the machete from the ground. Arachne holds it loosely, twirling it in her fingers. She gestures, and an arachne dutifully kneels before the blade; when she pulls away, viscous fluid drips from the weapon, sputtering as it hits the ground. Wes’s blue eyes gleam as the demon advances on Maka, and Soul's reaching before he even thinks about it, reaching for Wes’s heart, for the bright note of his blood -

But Wes barely twitches. "Not this time, little brother," Arachne says, and raises the machete.

For one perfect moment, it hangs, suspended in air, sunlight shining off the blade, and Soul begs his legs to go faster -

And then the blade comes down -

There's a ripping sound as it cleaves through his jacket. A shred of neon yellow flutters in the air, and he only has enough time to think, dazed, _it's couture_ , before unimaginable pain roars in its wake. It surges through his chest, flooding his body, and he gasps, teetering backwards.

He's eased down to the ground, and he fights, tries to resist, to get up and protect Maka, but he can't get purchase on the slick grass. Something's tickling the side of his face, and he sluggishly focuses on hair - Maka's pigtail. He touches it, staining it red, follows it with his eyes up to Maka's terrified face. Her mouth's moving, sounding out something - his name, he realizes, she's saying his name, over and over again.

_Run, stupid!_ he tries to say, but his body isn't responding to him anymore. Cold seeps through his skin, clutches his frantic heart, and his head feels light, dizzy, dark spots marring his vision. Maka leans closer, and he can see himself reflected in her green eyes, face pale and sweaty, and he wills himself to force his mouth to form words, to tell her to leave, Maka, you need to run, get out of here, Maka, Maka,

Ma

ka…


	7. the promise

\- yelling, movement, heaving up and down, every jostle sending another bolt of pain through him, and his chest _burns_ -

"-o, go, _go!"_

"…keep pressure…"

Something pushes against his chest, setting his nerves on fire, and he whimpers.

"Soul?" Cool hands touch his forehead. "Stay with me, please, _please -_ " but everything hurts, too much, too much, and he doesn't want to be here, take him back to a place without pain -

* * *

\- rumble of a motor beneath him, garbled words -

"- needs a hospital, where -"

"…can't, the poison…twenty miles… _faster -"_

"Don't die," someone whispers in his ear, "please, don't die." His mother's fingers card through his hair, and he can almost hear her sweet voice, lulling him to sleep… _but still my soul feels heaven bound, coming for to carry me home…_

* * *

\- stopping, slamming of doors, hands under his armpits, a barked word. Pain worms its fingers into his body and rips at his muscles and he screams.

A voice soothing him, _shh shh, Soul, it's okay_ \- his brother, rubbing circles on his shoulder, mopping at his hot face.

"…happened!?"

"…kidnapped, went to rescue them, and then Wes…"

Something peels back his eyelids, shards of light piercing through the darkness, and he flinches away, groaning.

"- burning up, get him inside -"

* * *

Agony awakens him, and he gasps and twists, throwing off the people trying to restrain him -

"-etamine, _now_ -"

\- squeezing his hand, Maka's warm hand in his. Her voice, close to his ear, whispering, "I'm here, I'm here," and he clings to her, clutching her fingers.

He drifts, buoyed by the sound of her breathing, in and out, in and out. The pain recedes, leaves him dry on the shore.

A whisper across the sands. "Is this how you felt?" Tears on his cheek. "Is this why you made the deal?"

 _The deal, the deal, the deal,_ echoing. Fatigue drifts up to cover him in blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

There's no music this time, but the demon sways back and forth slowly on the black and red checkered floor despite the lack of accompaniment.

"You again," Soul says, slumping into a chair.

"Me again," the demon agrees. "And it's thanks to me that you didn't die, you know. A little more appreciation would be nice."

"I doubt that," Soul snorts, but can't help but place a hand on his chest, feeling for a phantom wound.

"I told you, didn't I, Soul? You were given a gift." It slows, stops. "And that's not all, you know."

"Yeah yeah," Soul says, flapping a hand at it. "Use these powers that make heads explode, including my own. No thanks."

"Oh yes, pretend to ignore me. After all, you're good at pretending, aren't you?" The demon hops a little closer. "Pretended to not care if your brother's talent was more apparent than yours. Pretending not to care about having only eight months left before your contract is up. And now you're pretending not to have been afraid when you felt the blade rip through you." It leers, and Soul can see his own warped reflection in its strange eyes, looking small and scared. "I reside within your soul," it says. "You can't hide these things from me."

Soul wrenches his vision away from the demon's hypnotic gaze, but he can still feel its stare.

The demon changes topics. "…Poor Wes seems to be in quite a bind, hmm?" it says lightly. "Possessed by a demon, a hapless puppet to Arachne's whims. And as clever Maka said, there's no way to kill a demon. And Maka. Merely a half a second later and…" It draws a finger across its throat. "Your deal would have been for nothing."

Soul's fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. "…What do you suggest I do? I already traded the one thing you demons care about."

"I keep telling you, do I not?" It gestures to itself, placing a hand on its chest. " _Use_ the gift - use _me_ , my blood in your veins, to save your brother and protect your partner."

"I _did_! I tried to - and Wes - _Arachne_ , she didn't even so much as blink!"

"You're weak," it sniffs. "Too weak for the likes of her. But that doesn't mean you can't become stronger."

Soul glares at the silent phonograph. "…How?" he asks at last.

"Follow the power, Soul," the demon replies, grinning. "If you call her, she'll come. And then you can _truly_ understand what it means to be without fear."

* * *

He surfaces gradually from unconsciousness, sensation coming back to him in layers - the deep ache of his chest, drone of the AC, scent of Maka's lotion. He cracks open an eye, wincing at the light, and sees floral patterned wallpaper. He stares at it for a minute, trying to place where he's seen it before, and it dawns on him - Spirit's house, Maka's bedroom.

He struggles to move his head down, neck creaking. There's someone at the foot of the bed, a woman -

"Maka?"

"That the first word out of your mouth anytime you wake up?"

He blinks, and Liz's bored expression sharpens into focus. "Liz."

She gives him a nod and a lazy smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Thanks," he grunts. "Where's Maka?"

She rolls her eyes. "Man, you have a one-track mind." She jerks a thumb out the door. "Bathroom. And before you ask, yeah, she's fine. Got a couple of bruises and scratches, same as me 'n Patty, but nothing wrong with her aside from being a huge pain in the ass."

"She's not -"

"You better ask your questions now," Liz interrupts, " 'cause I got a feeling that once she gets back you're not gonna have any time to over her fussing."

"…What day is it? How long was I out? What happened after…after I got hurt?"

"It's October 4th, you were out for about three days." Liz shrugs. "I was too busy getting jumped by those four-eyed freaks to see it all, but from what I heard, you went down and your brother went ballistic, shouting something about his vessel. Next thing I know the arachne are clearing out and it's just us, with you bleeding all over the place."

"Where did he -"

There's rapid footsteps in the hall, and Maka rushes into the room before stopping suddenly, staring at Soul with wide eyes. She's sporting a shiner, and he can see the beginning of a nasty cut grazing the top of her collarbone, but he can't help his relieved grin.

She's by his side in an instant, taking his hand in hers. She fusses with his bandages and checks his temperature, murmuring as she does so. Over her ministrations, Soul sees Liz sneak out, closing the door behind them. Maka's fingers keep straying back to his cheek, to his hand, to his shoulder, as if to reassure herself that he's really there.

"Maka." He gently removes her hand from his face, holds it as he gives her a small smile. "Maka, it's okay. I'm fine."

She freezes, eyes flickering to meet his. Her eyes well, and she sniffs. "S-Soul."

"It's okay." He reaches up, wipes away a tear with his thumb. "I'm still here."

She bobs her head, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "You could have - you could've died. You almost did. Stein said."

"I didn't though." He squeezes her fingers. "See?"

"But you _could have._ " She looks down at their conjoined hands. "You almost died because…because _you left me behind."_

Soul flinches. "You _bastard!"_ Maka hisses, yanking her hand out of his grasp. "How _dare_ you go after the most powerful enemy we know of by _yourself?!_ "

"Listen, I know it wasn't the best plan -"

"Wasn't the best plan?" Maka echoes shrilly. "A _plan_ would mean you had an idea of what you were up against. A _plan_ would mean you would have taken me along and let me figure things out. This was not a plan, Soul, this was fucking suicide! A suicidal attempt made without me!" She stomps back and forth along the floorboards as she rants. "I can't believe you just up and fucking _left me_ without even telling me where you were going, you are such a -"

"Yeah?" Soul says lowly, struggling to sit up in bed. "Tell me, Maka, when were you going to let me know that you figured out where Wes was?"

Maka opens her mouth, expression fierce, but falters. She looks away, grimacing.

"That's what I thought. How long did you know where he was? Days? Weeks?" Her refusal to look him in the eye tells all. "Don't you fucking lecture me on not telling you shit when you've been keeping secrets too!"

"I wasn't sure!" she protests hotly. Her eyes narrow. "And _you_ would have just insisted we go rescue him no matter how unsure we were, which is exactly -"

"And so what if I did?! It's my goddamned life, Maka, and I don't have a lot of it left!"

Silence rings throughout the small room as they glare at each other.

"Fine," Maka says eventually, voice hard. "Do what you want. I'm not going to waste my breath on telling you how stupid you're being if you don't care."

"Fine!" Soul hollers after her as she storms out of the room. "I will!"

Something comes sailing through the door, and he has to duck to avoid being beaned in the head. Wes’s keychain bounces off the headboard and the walls rattle as she slams the door behind her.

He slumps back in the bed, rubs at his throbbing chest. "Stupid," he mutters under his breath, picking up the keychain and rubbing his thumb over it. "Stupid, reckless, stubborn idiot."

The pillow still smells of her. He throws it at the door.

* * *

"You were very lucky," Stein explains as he takes Soul's blood pressure. "It was a shallow wound, in one of the most protected areas of the body, and thus missed your major organs." He sticks a thermometer under Soul's tongue. "The poison was far more concerning."

Maka observes from the doorway as he listens to Soul's heart, asks him to take deep breaths to assess for lung function. He begins to cut away at the bandage covering his wound, and Maka forces herself to watch, to look at Soul's chest, at the terrible gash bisecting it.

"How did you get rid of the poison?" Soul asks as Stein examines him. "Did you find an antidote?"

Stein shakes his head. "We were unable to do much more than supportive care. Somehow you were able to fight it off without our direct intervention."

Soul's gaze meets her own from across the room. Anger flares in her stomach, and she sees the echoing resentment in his eyes. He looks away sharply.

If Stein notices the tension in the room, it doesn't show in his tone. "The good news is that you're recovering nicely," he tells him. "Your physical exam is benign, and the wound looks like it's healing well. I'd recommend staying in bed for at least another few days. Now, tell me more about these pigment changes…"

Maka leaves the room, but she can't stop seeing Soul's puckered skin, the neat line of staples trailing down from his shoulder to his waist. _It looks better, at least_ , she tells herself - at least it's not bleeding, angry red skin hissing, Soul's face becoming paler and paler -

"Hey, watch it, Macaw."

Maka turns, glares. "It's _Maka_ ," she says, crossing her arms. "Why are you still here, Elizabeth?"

Liz shrugs. "Your daddy offered us a food and a place to stay. Couldn't turn that down."

"So you're basically freeloading."

She waves a hand. "To-may-to, to-mah-to. How's your partner?"

"Go see for yourself, if you care so much," she says, scowling. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see _you_."

Liz raises an eyebrow. "Wow, what crawled up your butt and died? You guys have a spat or something?"

"Something like that," she mutters.

The sound of running feet makes them look at each other with trepidation before Patty comes bursting into view. "Food time, Sis!" she yells, nearly bowling the two of them over. "Hi Maka."

Maka musters up a smile. "Hi Patty. What's for lunch?"

"Soup!" she says, beaming. "I helped chop stuff for it. It's gonna be delish. You going to eat with us?"

"Maybe later," Maka replies.

“ ’Kay. Bring some to Soul though!" and they're gone before Maka can protest.

"What is it?" Soul asks when she brings it in.

"Don't know," Maka says shortly, slamming down the soup. It splashes on the table, some of it getting onto Soul's shirt.

He glares at her. "Do you actually not know, or are you just pretending to not know so I'll eat it?"

"I don't know, Soul," she says sweetly. "Are you just going to dump it all out without telling me as soon as I leave the room?"

His face reddens with rage, and he clamps his mouth shut, eyes trying to set her on fire with his gaze alone. _Score one for Maka,_ she thinks as she flounces off, leaving him fuming over his food.

It's later, laying down on the couch with the house dark and quiet, that everything catches up with her, that everything she had been staving off with anger and hurt break through her barriers. Her mind relentlessly attacks her with memories of That Day - of struggling, of the wicked edge of the blade, of Soul, jumping in front of her, staring up at her, eyes dimming as the gash in his chest gushed blood.

 _She almost lost him_ , almost lost Soul, her sarcastic, steadfast partner. Almost lost his nagging and fussing over her recklessness, almost lost his stubborn lack of concern for his own well-being. Almost lost his quiet strength and levelheadedness, his dry remarks and soft smiles. Almost lost his tender concern, his attentive patience and his fierce loyalty, all the things that made up this boy that she cared about, so very deeply - that she wasn't sure if she could bear to face the world without.

 _I couldn't save him_ , she thinks. _I couldn't save him, all I did was sit there like a stupid, weak little girl._

Because it had been Liz who had come running over while Maka cradled Soul's limp, unresponsive body, begging him to stay with her. It had been Liz who took one look at him and ordered Patty to run back inside and find some bedsheets to help move him, who shoved her aside so she could apply pressure to the wound. It had been Liz who helped carry him to the jeep, helped carry him into Papa's house, helped keep him alive.

 _If he leaves you for her, you deserve it,_ she tells herself harshly. _You're the worst partner in the world, worse than Papa. You killed Mama and you killed yourself and you almost killed Soul, all because you're not strong enough, you're not good enough, he's going to leave you, he_ should _leave you…_

She muffles her sobs with a blanket, and the fact that it still smells like Soul's aftershave only makes her cry harder.

* * *

Soul's woken up by someone flopping onto his bed. He opens his eyes cautiously, then quickly closes them. "Patty, get off."

"Why do you get your own bed?" she complains. "I hate sharing with Liz, she steals all the blankets."

He hisses when she rests her arms on his chest. " _Get off_ , Patty, that hurts." He shoves her away. "You're going to open my wound up."

"Wah wah wah," she mocks, rolling over onto his legs. He tries to kick her off, but she's too heavy to move. "You've been lying here for like, ever. When are you going to get out of this room so I can take this bed?"

"I'm still on bed rest!"

"Liiii-arrrrr." She pokes his foot, and it twitches under her prodding. "Stein said you should be getting up and moving around like, two days ago."

"I've been doing the stretches he told me to do," he says defensively. "It just hurts too much to get up and walk for long." The fact that Maka no longer visits his room and so he's safe from her iciness and his own anger when he looks at her is definitely not a factor at all.

"God, you're such a crybaby. Maka must really care about you to put up with your whiny ass."

He snorts. "Whatever. She hates me right now."

"Yeah, probably," Patty says cheerfully. "There's an awful lot of 'grr Soul, that jackass'." She makes a scowling face, holding her hands up like claws. " 'Hope I never see his stupid face again'."

"You know, you're really not good at comforting people," he says, giving her a dirty look.

Patty rolls her eyes. "She doesn't hate you, stupid," she explains. "She's just all worried and upset 'cause she couldn't do anything when you got hurt, and she -"

"I don't need you to tell me what my partner feels," he snaps.

Patty shrugs. "Suit yourself." She starts to toss Wes’s keychain in the air, snatching it before it hits the bed and throwing it up again.

"Give me that," Soul demands, moving to take it from her.

"If you want it, come and get it," she taunts, dangling it in front of him.

" _How_ old are you?"

"Sixteen. C'mon, you know you waaaant it."

He refuses to play her stupid game, crossing his arms and glaring at her. She wiggles the keychain back and forth, letting her grip go slack - he swipes for it, and she cackles, leaning back. "Too slow!" she crows, jumping off the bed.

"Quit it, Patty, I'm not in the mood."

"You're no fun," she says, pouting. "You're like, the anti-fun. Are you always this emo? Is that why you wear red contacts and dye your hair white?"

"Are you always this annoying? Is that why you're stealing my stuff and giving me a headache?"

"Yu-p! Think fast!" He barely catches the keychain as it's hurled at him, and does his best not to wince at the sting of the impact.

The shiny metal of the keychain winks at him as he opens his hand. "…Hey, Patty," Soul says carefully. "If…if Liz was being possessed by a demon, or just in like…a lot of danger, what would you do to make sure she's safe?"

"Whatever it takes," Patty replies immediately.

"Even if…even if it might make her angry?" He rubs his thumb over the keychain, wearing away at the letters. "Even if you didn't know what the consequences were, but you knew they couldn't be good?"

" _Anything_ ," Patty insists. "Sis and me, we're the only thing we got left. I'd do anything to keep it that way."

He looks down, studies the souvenir. "…Yeah," he says at last.

"So…you want me to call Maka in here?"

He blinks, looks up. "What?"

"Call her in here so you can kiss her and make up, silly. That's what you were asking about, right?"

She dodges his pillow, giggling as she skips out of the room. Soul scowls at her retreating back. "Little brat," he mutters, forcing the corners of his mouth down.

In the peace that follows, he turns the keychain over and over. His reflection stares back at him, serious and solemn. "…Anything," he says quietly.

* * *

The weather is cold and windy the day that Liz and Patty finally decide to head off. From the window, Maka takes a secret pleasure in watching Liz spit out strands of her hair every three minutes when a particular strong gust goes through.

"Don't be rude, Maka," Papa calls from the kitchen, and she reluctantly goes to help them load their things into their old Dodge Challenger.

She tosses the last duffel bag in the back seat, and Patty gives her a thumbs up. The trunk slams closed, and Maka follows her back to the house.

Soul hovers in the front door, blanket over his shoulders. Stein firmly banned him from helping, citing stitches and weight lifting restrictions, and he seems to have settled for chatting with Liz instead, who leans against the doorframe, hair firmly shoved underneath her stupid cowboy hat.

"So where are you off to?" he's asking.

Liz stretches. "Got a lead on a possible vamp in Idaho." She yawns. "Long drive ahead of us though, so we'll be leaving soon as Spirit brings out our lunches for the road. Thanks for letting me download some of those Portishead songs, by the way."

"I cannot _believe_ you got to see them in concert," Soul replies, scowling. "But uh, you're welcome. Thanks for sticking around." He rubs at his chest. "And for getting me out of that situation, with the arachne."

"Not the world's worst roommate after all, huh?" She punches his arm lightly. "Dumb pretentious punk," she says affectionately.

"Walking fashion disaster," Soul replies, one corner of his mouth inching upwards into a smile. Something hot and jealous rolls through Maka's stomach at the sight, and she cuts her way through them with a little more force than necessary and a lot less politeness.

A pause, and then footsteps sound behind her as she stalks into the house. "Leave me alone, Soul," she says.

"Man, you two are impossible," Liz's voice drawls from behind her, and Maka stops, clenching her fists. "Swear to god you're like, the most co-dependent partnership I've ever seen."

Maka turns around. "What do you want, Elizabeth," she says flatly.

"Believe it or not, I wanted to thank you and your daddy for letting us stay here and feeding us." Liz props a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. "Man, a girl goes to say goodbye to her gracious hosts and it's like she's stolen her favorite necklace or something."

"You've stolen something, alright," Maka says under her breath. Liz raises her eyebrows, and Maka feels her face flood with heat.

"…Are you - are you _jealous_?" Liz asks, incredulous. “ ’Cause Maka, honey, there is _nothing_ going on between me and Soul -"

"It's _not like that_ ," she hisses.

"Then what -"

"You're the one that saved him, not me," Maka says. "You're the one that didn't - didn't freeze up and would've let him bleed out. You're the one that he'll _talk to_ now because you didn't fuck up your partnership with him beyond repair."

"…Listen," Liz says, sighing. "Soul isn't - I don't know, he's angry, yeah, really pissed off, and from what it sounds like it might be pretty justified. But jesus, that boy can't shut up about you even when he's avoiding being in the same room as you. Maka this, Maka that -"

"I don't need you to tell me what my partner feels," Maka mutters, crossing her arms.

Liz throws up her hands. "Fine, whatever. See if I care, god."

"…Thanks, Liz," Maka says eventually. "For - for Soul."

"You watched out for Patty," Liz says, shrugging. "She told me how you stopped her from running inside and getting herself killed. And uh…for what it's worth, if it was Patty leaking blood everywhere, I'm sure we would have been in the opposite positions."

"Sure," Maka says. She smiles, and pretends to be reassured.

Papa comes bustling in with plastic bags filled of food, and Liz's eyes light up at the sight. "Thanks Mister Albarn," she says as he transfers it to her.

"Anytime, anytime," Papa says modestly, and Maka ignores the twinge of pride at his generosity.

When they get back to the foyer, Soul's engaged in a staring contest with Patty. "Really, you two?" Liz says. " _Really?"_

"She started it," Soul says, eyes not moving from Patty's.

"I'd believe it," Maka pipes up, and she sees Soul stiffen.

"Hah!" Patty cries, jabbing a finger at him. "You blinked, so you lose!"

Soul grumbles as he hands over a dollar bill. Patty pockets it, beaming.

"All right, let's get going Patty." Liz tosses a cell phone at Soul, who catches it, wincing at the sudden movement. "I put my phone number in there," she says. "Stein has a way to contact us too."

"How did you -"

"Told you, didn't I?" Liz smirks. "You're not the first uppity punk I've robbed."

Soul grins, and Maka looks away. "You'll call us if you see or hear about anything?" she asks, studying the wall. "Arachne, demons…"

"No sweat," Patty says. She throws her arms around Maka. "It was fun hunting with you and staying here and getting grub! Let's do it again sometime!"

"Sure, Patty," Maka says, patting her head. To Liz, she gives a cool nod, and receives one in return. "Drive safe, Liz," she says, softer, and Liz favors her with a faint smile.

Soul and Maka wave from the window as they drive off, leaving the two of them alone. Maka watches his reflection in the window. He's pretending to be very engrossed in his scar, though she can see him dart glances up at her in between frowns.

"Don't pick at that," she says gruffly. "You'll pull them out and Stein'll have to restitch you up."

"It's almost healed," he snaps, but stops playing with the staples. He looks out at the street. "It was nice to have some new music suggestions," he muses. "Wonder if Liz has heard of Mogwai?"

Maka scowls. "If you miss her so much, why didn't you just go with her?" she snaps, and pushes past him before he can respond.

* * *

He leaves Wes’s keychain behind on his pillow, taking the spare key from the foyer and driving as slowly as possible out of the driveway. _It'll only be a half hour,_ he tells himself, _I'll be back before they even notice I'm missing._

His chest feels tight, scar digging its fingers across his ribs, and he hunches over the wheel as he zooms down an empty highway. Driving down the country roads in the dark, with only the moon as his witness, pulls him back into that night, the night that started everything. _I'm doing it for her_ , he reminds himself. _Anything. Anything._

He pulls off at the first open field he can find, once he deems himself far enough away from Spirit's house. He struggles across the ditch, careful not to trample on the growing plants.

He takes a deep breath. "Medusa."

"Why, Soul." He turns, sees her perched atop a low wall, legs crossed delicately at the ankles. She smirks at him. "What a pleasant surprise."

"The demon -"

"Oni." She raises her eyebrows at his confused look. "We do have names, you know."

He waves a hand. "Oni, whatever. It said…it said you knew how to help me."

"Oni is correct."

He waits, but she says nothing further, merely watches him with a calculating gaze.

"So _help me_ ," he snaps finally.

"Hmph," she says, languid, "how rude. Your parents raised you better than that." She tilts her head. "What do you want from me?"

"To - to be able to save Wes. And keep Maka alive. These…this _curse_ you gave me, it didn't affect Arachne, and I was barely able to stop her from killing Maka again."

Medusa sniffs. "It would take time and patience to build up your strength enough to take on _her_. Time which, I'm sorry to say, you don't have. How much longer was it before we welcome you downstairs? Eight months?" She hums. "Besides, who knows how long it is until Arachne tires of poor Wes as a meatsuit and decides to upgrade to one of her other disgusting brats? Or when Maka will throw caution to the wind again and stumble across some dangerous situation that you can't protect her from?"

"So what? What do you want me to do?"

Medusa smiles, but doesn't respond.

"Just fucking _tell me!_ " he yells, and the thought of them, bleeding on the ground, eyes fixed and glassy, has him instinctively attempting to squeeze off her blood flow, to _force_ her to comply -

But Medusa shrugs off his control easily. Her smile turns into an eager grin. "Very good," she praises him. "You're able to reach for it quicker than you could before. No wonder your appearance has changed so rapidly." She stretches and pushes off from the wall. "I can increase your power," she says, stepping closer. "Make you stronger. Strong enough to take and protect what is yours."

"And what is that going to cost me?"

Her sleeve brushes against him as she stops, and she looks up at him, coy. "Nothing," she says. "I like to protect my investments. And you, my dear Soul, are a _very_ precious one."

He starts to respond, but Medusa reaches for his face and yanks him down, guiding his mouth to hers.

He staggers backwards, and his hands come up to push her away, but she doesn't let go, holding his jaw in an iron grip as she presses forward. Her tongue assaults him, shoving his out of the way as she runs hers along his teeth. The taste of her blood, tarry and oily and sweet, too sweet, like rot, floods his mouth, and he can feel it dripping down his throat, slithering its way down his esophagus.

His fingers curl around hers, and he attempts to pry them off of him, struggling. She holds her position a minute longer, then lets go; he stumbles away, scrubbing at his mouth. Blood drips down from her lips, and he watches as she deliberately licks a drop away, smirking.

"Feel free to call on me any time, Soul," Medusa says, and then she's gone.

* * *

The lights are still off when he gets back to Spirit's and Stein's place. He carefully opens the door, holds his chest as he slips back into Maka's bedroom. He tosses back the covers, only grunting a little in pain as he bends, and -

"So you did come back."

He jumps, head whipping towards the chair. Maka's still as a statue, hands clutching his keychain. Moonlight hollows her cheeks, and she stares at him impassively.

"M-Maka?"

"Thought you left me. Again."

He slides off the bed, takes a few steps towards her. "Maka," he says, tired suddenly of being angry, of feeling alone. His mouth feels bruised and bloody, his chest aches from more than just physical pain, and all he wants is to is feel her hands squeeze his and remind him she's there with him, that he doesn't have to do this by himself. "Maka, I -"

"I don't care where you went, or what you did," she interrupts, standing. Her mouth is set in a grim line, but he can see the tremble in it, and her eyes flash with anger and hurt. _"_ But next time, if you're going to leave me, just…stay gone."

"Maka, _stop_ ," he says, catching her elbow.

She stares down at where his fingers grip her. "Let me go, Soul," she says coldly.

He drops his hand, but doesn't move. "That is such total _bullcrap,_ " he hisses. "I'm not leaving you. I'm _never_ leaving you, and you _know_ that -"

"Do I?" she echoes shrilly. " _Do I?!_ You already left me once! How am I supposed to trust you - "

"And you left _me_ once," he interrupts, which shuts her up. He takes her hands in his own. "I didn't let you go then. And I'm not gonna let you go now. Not unless we both go together."

She stares at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. He squeezes, meeting her gaze and refusing to look away, willing her to _understand._ "I'm not going to leave you," he repeats, softly. "I'm your partner. For…for as long as you want me to be."

Maka shudders, drawing in a breath, and removes her hands from his. "I - I have to go," she stutters, backing away. "I - I can't -" She shakes her head.

She leaves, taking his hopes with her, and he slumps, trudges back to her bed. The sheets lost her scent weeks ago, but he buries his head in them and pretends he can still smell her, pretends that everything is still all right between them, that they'll be heading out on the road tomorrow…

* * *

Something's shaking him, and he opens his eyes to gentle dark.

"Maka?" he asks, sleepy.

"Come on, Soul," she says, and helps him up out of bed. He yawns, letting her ease him into a light jacket and slip on his shoes. She takes him outside to where the jeep rumbles, waiting for them.

They drive in silence. The darkness tucks a blanket around them, softening the edges of the world. Soul begins to wonder where they're going, where she's driving him. There's a growing fear at the back of his mind - is she taking him somewhere to drop him off? Did she - did she actually want to dissolve their partnership? He looks over at Maka, who stares straight ahead at the road, fingers gripping the steering wheel, and decides against voicing his concerns.

It's maybe fifteen minutes later when Maka turns off the highway, and the jeep hums as it begins to ascend an incline. The low brush gives way to rock, and Soul recognizes the contours of the land: Mount Scott, their usual escape from Spirit's over-the-top antics and Stein's intimidating presence.

He remembers when Maka first took him up here. They had laid out on the sun-warmed boulders, tossing food between them, watching the tiny cars crawl along the highway far below. He doesn't remember what they talked about, but he remembers the ache of his mouth from smiling so much, remembers the companionable quiet that fell over them as the sky melted into black velvet, the stars glittering above them. He remembers looking over at this girl, this brave, amazing girl who had saved his life in more than one way. Who had taught him how to throw a punch and how to splint a broken arm; who taught him how to be courageous and how to not be lonely.

The jeep rumbles to a stop at the summit, and Soul shakes his memories away. The only lights come from Lawton, far far below them, and around them the world is hushed, the quiet sighs of the wind and restless buzz of the insects keeping them company.

Maka helps him out of the car. Her hand is warm in his as she leads him away from it, and he closes his eyes, trusting her to keep him on the right path.

She lies down on one of the boulders, tugging at him to follow suit. The rock is cool against his back, and her shoulder brushes his as he settles down beside her. She doesn't let go of his hand as they gaze up at the vast sky above them.

"I thought I lost you."

He looks at her, but she's still staring up at the stars. "When you fell - when you jumped in front of me to take the hit - I couldn't do anything. You were bleeding so much, and your face…"

She stops for a minute, breathing erratic. He rolls onto his side, watching her close her eyes and collect herself.

"I couldn't do anything," she repeats. "Liz had to get us out of there, get us back to Papa's, so you could be treated. You almost died because I was too scared, too shocked to do anything."

"Maka…"

"And - and if I hadn't kept things from you, if I had told you that I'd been finding possible arachne reports, that I thought Wes might be there, you wouldn't have run in by yourself. You wouldn't have gotten c-captured and wouldn’t have b-been sliced open." She turns to him, curling in on herself. "It's my f-fault," she sobs. "I didn't get there in t-time to save Wes from the djinn. I was reckless and d-died and you had to bring me back. And I didn't tell you about the articles and you nearly died trying to s-save me."

"Maka, no -"

"I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry I'm not strong, that I can't be as strong as you, and that you keep paying for it."

He holds her to him as she cries. "I'm not strong, Maka," he says gently. "Not without you. I don't - I don't keep running in front of you because I'm brave. It's because I'm a coward. I-I can't do this by myself."

She quiets at this, but doesn't pull away. Emboldened by the darkness, he finds his heart unclenching, the guilt and sorrow overflowing and spilling out into the night.

"The last words I said to Wes was that I didn't want to be his brother."

The cold, distant stars stare down at him, impassive, as he continues on, voice cracking, "Wes, he…he was a violin prodigy. He was amazing, got invited to play at some of the top symphonies of the world. People loved him, and I did too, but I - I was jealous. The djinn, when it caught me…my dream, my greatest wish was for my brother to be the _other_ one, the one without any talent. And when Wes found me, when he woke me up and tried to get me out of there, I told him - I said -"

Maka touches his face, brushes away his tears. He closes his eyes, grounding himself in the press of her fingertips to his cheeks. "See, Maka?" he murmurs. "I'm not brave, or strong, not like you. I don't even know if I want to save him because he's my brother, and I love him, or if it's because I can't stand having it on my conscience, that the last thing I ever said to him was the thing that hurt him the most."

"Can't it be both?" Maka asks. "You don't want that to be the last thing you said because you love him, and you don't want to hurt him because he's your brother."

He sighs. "Maybe. I don't know." If only it were so easy - if only he could believe in his good intentions as much as Maka does.

His chest throbs, and he pulls away from Maka to rub at it briefly. Tentative fingers brush his ribs, and he stiffens, heart beating fast - but Maka does nothing more than trace them along his scar. They catch on the staples beneath his shirt, and she settles for splaying her hand against him, her touch a brand against his heart.

The moon trawls across the sky. Its unblinking eye bears witness to their confessions, and Soul feels a shiver run up his spine as he remembers its scrutiny only a few hours ago.

"I have to tell you something," he blurts out.

She sniffs. "W-what?"

"I -" He licks his lips. "I met with Medusa."

"What?" She pulls back from him. "When? Why?"

"She - she told me, before, that you knew where Wes was. And - and after I realized that I couldn't save you, that I couldn't stop Arachne, I went to her. That's where I went, tonight."

Maka, to her credit, does not yell, or lash out, or jump up and demand they go after her. "What happened?" she asks instead, hand still pressed against him.

He describes, haltingly, his encounter with the demon - her observations, her promise, her violation of his mouth. Maka's fingers clench his chest tightly at the latter, but she doesn't say anything, only listens patiently.

When he finishes, he finds himself shaking, trembling with remembrance of the feel of her tongue invading him, the slick taste of her blood. "I'm - I'm scared, Maka," he whispers. "I don't know what's happening to me, and I don't know what she did, what the other demon - what Oni did. I don't know how I'm going to do this - how I'm going to keep you safe and save Wes -"

"How _we're_ going to do this," she corrects him firmly, pulling him into an embrace. "We're going to do this together," she says into his ear. "But we have to trust each other to do it - with everything, not just with having each other's backs. Okay?"

He swallows. "O-okay," he says, and she lets go of him.

"We're partners," she says, soft, eyes shining in the darkness. "And wherever we go, we go together. So no more secrets." She holds out a pinky. "Promise?"

He loops it with his own, heart fluttering. "Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Things don't end here though - head on over to the next act, where we meet many new faces and where things get darker and far more dangerous.
> 
> Comments and criticism are highly appreciated, and please make sure to check out my partners' arts and playlist - as well as the rest of the amazing work submitted for Resbang 2017!


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